Your Love's My MUSE
by pearls-and-crystal-blues
Summary: Inspirations from Muse's songs in the form of long AU one-shots. You'll find anything: drama, humour, loss, adventure, pain, tragedy, suspense, and most of all, love. *more inside*
1. I'll Burn Forever

**Author's Note: **Hello everyone! It's really exciting, being back here after almost a year- and what a year, indeed! However, past is past, I've done fairly well with my final exams and now Im more than ready to restart doing what I mostly adore; writing!

Being frank, the conception of songfics wasn't one of my favourites; I'm not really against it, but I've very rarely read some and I never really expected to write one of those. However, during the year, the idea popped into my mind, and it was really easy to blend some hesitantly born ideas from my mind with songs of my very favourite band- the aptly name MUSE, as Stephanie Meyer once quoted.

As said previously, most of those stories had been somewhat molded into my mind, but their almost completed form was shaped with the help of lyrics that 'magically' fitted with my own ideas; this thing alone had firstly made me feel awe. Anyway, in this ''album'', you will find **AU stories** of Ron and Hermione- **oneshots, to be precise**- that have, more or less, their roots on the ground of a Muse's song.

-About this first oneshot, I have some things to say. It's a Deathly Hallows compliant fic, but not an Epilogue one. The idea came to me months ago, but it was quite hard for me to put it into words; it's intense, really intense, and dark, and I'm still worried if I did some parts justice to what I had firstly envisioned. Anyway, that's the final thing, which I really hope that you'll enjoy and find it worth-reading.

**Warnings:** Something that should be noted before you start reading is that if you're offended with themes like swearing, usage of smoke and alcohol, cheating on a spouse and suicide, I should suggest- sadly, but genuinely- not to read this oneshot. Also, in this fic, you'll witness a not-so-flawless Hermione and mostly an emotionally unstable and weak Ron- be aware that at points it goes very OOC. Moreover, I'd like to notify that I'm not a Draco/Hermione shipper, not at all; the usage of it, as you will see, is to show exactly how repulsive and wrong I think this pairing is- no offence to any D/Hr shippers, though. To me, however, Ron belongs to Hermione, and vice versa, and that's what I show in this fiction.

Even though I originally thought for this fic to be, from head to toe, a very intense, dark fic, some parts of it came out lighter and softer, especially as regards interaction between Ron and Hermione; for that, I'd like to mention the importance to another, amazing song to me, _Pyro, _by _Kings of Leon._

Anyway, I'll stop now with my rambling and I'll let you read... Enjoy! :)

_**"I'll Burn Forever"; Rated: M; a Ron/Hermione fic of Angst, Romance & Tragedy.**_

_**Inspired by Muse's song, "Sunburn".**_

"_Stupid, bloody ties…"_

That was the only thing that was being heard for the last five minutes in a small flat in London. The owner was cursing uncontrollably as he was trying to impress himself with his amazing abilities with the ties, but the outcome was only confusing him and making him lose tremendously fast his temper.

Even though he was somewhere near thirty, he still had problems with tying, a thing he was used to since eleven…

Of course, Ron Weasley wasn't one of these guys that tying ties was their pastime, no; Ron Weasley would wear one only when he had to and surely that night was one of the obligatory ones.

_Formal attire…_

"Fuck," Ron only murmured as he eventually smoothed the presentable tie on the best white shirt he had and after throwing a careful look at the reflection in front of him, he quickly wore his tight, black tuxedo on and ran his fingers in his sandy locks of hair, trying to give to his hair some type…

_Why am I, all of the sudden, so careful over my appearance; I spent over thirty minutes!_

Tutting to himself lowly while looking for his wand, he wandered around his small flat for a bit, and after finding it along with a presentable, black cloak he had for occasions like the particular one, he quickly Apparated to a well-known alleyway at the centre of London, already thinking about returning back home.

"Stupid, useless galas of the Ministry or whatever… Like everyone has time to waste for their show-offish ways…" he murmured grumpily as he was quickly walking on the half-lit road towards the entrance of the Ministry: the usual, 'out of order', telephone booth.

After the typical procedure, Ron felt the box descending slowly, until it appeared in a whole new place, one lit gloriously, one already packed with various people, all chatting lightly while wearing their best outfits and smiles; Ron sometimes hated this kind of stuff just because of its entire fakeness.

Eventually reaching the floor, Ron quickly stepped out of the 'masked' elevator and in a moment of self-consciousness and nervousness, he straightened his tux along with his back absently. He looked around quickly while making steps around the hall, feeling slightly lost and certainly grumpier.

_Where's bloody Harry, for Circe's sake? Never there when you need him, the bloody bloke- the worst timing I've ever experienced in my entire life, the shitty—_

His thoughts kept on like that for minutes to end, never letting his mind relax a bit; actually, he was like that, more or less, for years now, but only some really close people of him could comprehend this fully, as well the reason behind it…

Of course, that was a thing that he couldn't even admit to himself…

"Oi, Ron!"

A string of unintelligible swearing was almost audible at that precise moment, as the set of sapphire eyes straightly looked at the source of the voice. More or less fuming inside, the redhead man took hurried, wide steps towards a slightly average in height, black-haired man with round glasses and a very expensive costume; if Ron wasn't angry at him for being late and for not announcing himself earlier, he would bit him off for his so grand choice of attire.

"You bloody piece of Merlin's shit, where the heck where you, heh?" Ron greeted his friend rather loudly, instantly making some people around them look at him with shocked faces; Harry Potter just looked at him with amused eyes and a bright smile on his face.

"Hello to you, too, cranky," Harry said lightly, laughing silently at his best friend's behaviour. "Grumpier than usual I see… Something wrong or you're just trying to get above yourself, deary?"

"Shut up, you cock-sucker pansy," Ron muttered darkly and quickly grabbed a glass of champagne from a flying disk that had just passed next to them. Harry laughed openly at his offensive response.

"More creative than ever, aren't you? I'm still trying to find out what is the spring of your inspiration when it comes to profanities," spoke Harry humorously after sipping his own drink. Ron gulped a big mouthful of the mild alcohol before replying, this time, strangely so, much softer.

"Sorry, I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed…" he told his friend gently, like it was another person speaking. Harry, once more, smiled widely, even though this time the beam was holding also some hint of sympathy and understanding.

"Like every single day, am I right?" he said nonetheless, making the red-haired glare at him and spit some more vulgar language at him. Harry laughed even harder and at that moment Ron just couldn't really keep being angry at his best friend- he was only trying to be helpful for his benefit, not teasing just for mere entertainment.

"Well, where's my sister? I thought she was coming along tonight," Ron eventually spoke normally after some minutes of gathering his wits. Harry didn't get in a hurry to sip his champagne before answering back:

"Oh, she _is_ here- I believe in the ladies' room, trying to powder her nose or whatever nonsense women do all the time."

"Well, the results seem to always fascinate you, though, don't they, Harry?" a voice was suddenly heard from behind Harry and both men turned their heads to see a too-known woman with fiery red hair and an emerald dress approaching them with a smile on her face. Harry instantly beamed affectionately at her and wrapped his arm around her waist the moment she was standing next to him.

"Of course I do, lovely; the whole procedure, though, is a dreadful waste of time… so much time spent without you, baby…"

"Oh, Harry," Ginny Potter sighed sweetly and pecked his lips. "You'll get rewarded for this later…"

"Just bloody stop, you two, 'cause I think I'm gonna be sick!" Ron exclaimed after witnessing the two of them getting once more engaged in an amorous kiss. Ginny instantly turned around and watched him carefully.

"Oh, hello, Ronald," she said with mock indifference, like she'd just noticed him being there; Ron wasn't sure if he wanted to chuckle or give her the finger.

"Very funny, sis," he just said sarcastically while rolling his eyes and gulping the rest of his champagne down. The redhead woman searched him with her brown eyes for a bit before eventually speaking:

"For goodness' sake, get into the spirit, for once!" she complained seriously, just getting out of her husband's arms and completely turning her attention to her closest brother. "You're always like that, all grumpy and growling and not letting one touch of merriness inside you! And why is all that? Because you never dared to admit that—"

"You're talking bullshit, Ginny!" Ron cut her off in an instant, knowing exactly where she was leading this. "I'm grouchy just because I had a very shitty day and the only thing I needed at the moment was to be in this stupid gala with a tux and watching my sister and best friend snogging their brains out or something!"

"Oh, and it's a coincidence that you're in a foul mood every single day for the last eight or so years?" Ginny retorted back instantly, her eyes almost as fiery as her blazing hair. Ron stepped forward while glaring at his sister.

"You're talking simple nonsense, Ginny," he spat in a low growl, his eyes sparking almost dangerously. Ginny gave him an identical look and was about to answer him not so gently, but Harry immediately stepped in.

"I think there's no need to take it that far; remember, we're in a public place, not at our own, yeah?" he piped in gently, half-afraid that someone of the pair would attack at any moment. At the gentle touch of his hand on her arm, Ginny calmed down considerably and stepped back some, trying possibly to forget all about the previous argument. Ron did the same, although he was still able to feel his blood boiling inside him, not letting him relax completely- it was always there to tease him and somewhat torture him, even though he would never confess it.

"Sorry, Gin," Ron whispered kindly after a couple of deep breaths, knowing that his friend was quite right. Ginny nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, sorry, bro," she said back, her tone sincere as she was also giving him a tiny, apologetic smile. Harry seemed grateful and quite relieved with the temporary outcome and gave a squeeze to his wife's arm while wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Ron looked at the two of them discreetly from between his thick eyelashes as he was sipping his second glass of champagne and thinking miserably. He stared at the couple still, observing the sweetness around each other, the refreshing flirting, the gentleness and the love, everything. He felt some pang in his chest, specifically in his heart, but he tried stubbornly to ignore it, repeating to himself over and over that they deserved it, and that was the reason they could savour it; some people could have it and they would, while others would always remain alone, never experience the sensation of utter completion, of shivering fulfillment…

He would never own it, but he decided that he didn't care at all; he was always saying that to himself.

He needed real alcohol now, not stupid, unsatisfying champagne; Ron said as much to the couple before him and they merely nodded in response, surely engrossed with each other. Heaving a deep exhalation, the redhead man made his way to the makeshift bar in the hall, quickly ordering a straight, double Firewhiskey; with the first gulp, the remaining, strong liquid almost reached the bottom of the glass. Ron, even though too familiar with the certain procedure, always felt this burning feeling at his throat and all the way down to his restless, clenched stomach, but just as always, he ignored it completely, knowing that he wouldn't comprehend it fully in a bit.

"Who gives a heck about a sick organism?" he mumbled to himself sort of darkly, his blue eyes mirroring the almost empty bottom of his glass absentmindedly. "Cheers to the eternal bachelors," he toasted lowly to his tired self and drank the rest of the so strong alcohol fast, without realizing that he was receiving some odd glances from a couple of wizards nearby.

That was how the redhead man, commonly known as Ron Weasley, had become around over the last decade of his still short life. At first glance, that would be at least absurd: Ronald Weasley, one third of the Golden Trio, really could have no reason to be all alone, finding the greatest of companies in some dusted bottles of well-made Firewhiskey, growing all distant and dangerously sarcastic, almost turning to burning ice. Yes, that really wasn't the first thing anyone could think about Ron Weasley, the all-the-time funny guy, the compassionate and passionate one, especially the ones who had the chance to know him during his early years. However, with the passing of the years, with the twists of fate and the abrupt turns of life, he changed a lot, sometimes becoming a man so different from his true, old self that even his closest of people would barely recognize him as familiar. He would always- or mostly- deny it, especially to the people who knew too well, that it was a particular period of his life that made his soul all shocked and shuddering, to the point of changing him so greatly.

_Always this damned, unable-to-get-rid-of, influence…_

"Another one…" he whispered almost softly, his eyes staring down unconsciously, uncaringly…

_Even now, for Goodness' sake…!_

After this second drink, which didn't last long, it seemed like Ron could think straighter, like he had been awaken from a numb, passing situation that couldn't be considered as lifetime. Standing up with a nice, almost awe-inspiring pose in his lean body, he made, once again, his way towards his best friend, who was at the time, surprisingly so, alone again.

"What's wrong with my sister? She seems like she's ditching you far too often tonight…" Ron commented the moment he appeared next to his friend, though this time his words were certainly wrapped with a good-natured tone; Harry, at the words, laughed lightly.

"Do you think I should get myself worried?" he pretended with a smile playing across his face, knowing on the inside that Ron was always a lot more calm and relaxed after a truly strong drink or two. "She found a girl mate of hers and she's dragged away."

"Into girls as well? I think you're losing her mate," Ron chuckled gently under the influence of the Firewhiskey, with all his nerves gone, with all the grouchiness of his being put to a very comforting coma.

"Well, if it's for a girl, I'd let her have some fun, as long as I have a good view of it all…" the black-haired man teased spicily, managing successfully to bring an amazing grimace up to the taller man's face.

"Great, man, you've guaranteed for me a very long, sleepless night," Ron answered immediately, causing both men chuckle sincerely- a moment that was gradually died when Harry accidently took a glimpse of a very familiar figure on the other side of the big hall.

_Speaking of losing… and it had to happen just the moment he was starting to get a bit more undisturbed…_

"Oh… See who's back," Harry suddenly said after a couple of care-free moments of comfortable silence, knowing that if Ron saw the particular sight suddenly and on his own, the consequences would be much worse. Ron, at the sound of the words, instantly turned his head around to look towards the place Harry's emerald eyes were being glued.

"Who's-?" Ron started half-curiously, half-lightheartedly, but that till the moment his dark blue eyes rested on the sight Harry pointed out, thus his innocent question remained in the air incomplete, never to be touched again.

_Bloody hell._

His body had remained frozen for seconds unknown, as well his heart; then, after that short-lived moment of downright shock, his heart pounded really hard, making his pulse wild, his blood running hot inside his veins.

All he could see was red… and _her_.

_Hermione Jean Granger-…_

He could not say the last one, not even inwardly; he couldn't bring his mind to the point of even thinking about it…

"Oh, she remembered she had a house in England and eventually decided to come back from Freaky-land or whatever?" Ron eventually spat, his eyes sending glares to the hateful sight of hers, of hers along with _him_…

"Switzerland," Harry said immediately, his voice avoided from any emotion, just to prevent more upset from his friend's side; Ron let out a growl of anger.

"Who gives a fuck about where _she _was, along with her fucking, wealthy pet! I don't give a bloody shit!" Ron answered fast and heatedly, all the while feeling his blood all boiling hot, his heart untamed, his soul restless, his mind almost rebellious…

For a moment, he just wanted to turn his back again, just to see… but no! His anger levels rose in an instant, teasing him unbearably.

"Ron, will you ever-?"

"I'll never stop!" Ron almost cried out, never letting his best friend completing his so known query. "She betrayed us- both of us!"

"Ron, if she loves him—" Harry tried to speak once again, his tone calm, yet also quite pleading, but Ron wouldn't have any of it; he was right, he _was_ and no one should doubt that.

"_She_? She loves that _ferret?_" Ron asked ludicrously, his face starting to gain a redder tint. "Come on, we all know why she's with him! All his bloody fortune made her change her mind… Who bloody cares if Malfoy's a stupid prick with a dark past, who gives a shit if his entire family was associated with bloody Voldemort, who minds if he's just a pile of bullshit?"

_**Come waste your millions here,**_

_**Secretly she sneers.**_

Suddenly obeying, almost unconsciously, to his mind's orders, he let his body turn around some, with the corner of his eye looking at the couple some meters away with a blend of feelings inside him. He stared at his former friend with loath as he was observing her being tightly close to her worthless husband, watching with those bright eyes of hers at their company, as her too blond spouse was talking, like always, so disgusting pompously about his fucking growing wealth, all the while showing off discreetly his pure-gold wristwatch and his too expensive, bloody silky or whatever, costume. Ron burned on the inside, his fury roared deep into his chest, all the while his slightly trembling, sweaty hands tried absently to straight his own, low-priced outfit. His eyes, however, never stopped staring at her, seeing that she, too, was dressed in the finest of clothes, ones that cried from afar all the richness: black silk was hugging her entire form, expect from her fair back, a necklace of diamonds resting on her collarbone, a huge, diamond ring hugging her finger meaningfully…

Ron growled in an almost animalistic way, his rage never letting him notice a very well hidden frown on her flawless face…

_**Another corporate show,**_

"Ron, calm down, people are watching us—" Harry started only seconds later, looking at his best friend with kind eyes that knew too well, but never told aloud the too-known secret.

"I don't fucking care, Harry!" Ron half-shouted angrily, his chalky face becoming redder and redder with every passing second, with every new ounce of upset sitting on his chest nearly painfully. "She ditched us like this to throw herself at the arrogant prick's arms and forget all about us, how we spent time together, how much of friends we were, everything! Probably we meant nothing to her, nothing!"

At his own words, the redhead man felt like endlessly falling, as abrupt images of dusted memories flashed behind his eyes; those of happiness, of innocence, of coyness, of bravery, of bitterness, of envy, of fury, of rejection, of ache…

It was all inside him, stabbing him slowly, almost unnoticeably, yet he would never admit, and he would never show…

_She had betrayed them- him…_

_Nothing, nothing, nothing…_

His anger snapped instantly, like restocked fire.

"Ron, don't think like that; it's not certain that it's like this… Maybe she wanted us near her, but the moment you saw her with Malfoy, you turned your back to her, denying speaking to her or anything," Harry spoke reasonably after a sigh of slight defeat. Ron, at his rational, calm words, felt angrier, actually blind to see anything else besides his own, right perspective.

"Harry, she _betrayed _us- she fucking betrayed us!" he repeated with low emphasis.

"Do you think that love's a betrayal?" Harry asked him quickly, his voice slightly sharper, his eyes showing some impatience.

"Do you think that she loves him? Ha, it's very funny, Harry! She's simply with him for money and fame, nothing else!" Ron spat with a tone dripping sarcasm in every word, in every little _cover_…

"You believe what you're saying, Ron?" Harry finally asked him, annoyed, suddenly very fed up with his friend's persistence, his blindness, his decision to forget everything, to make them all disappear, yet nest deep inside him excruciatingly… "Do you believe that our Hermione's like that?"

"But did we really know her?" Ron asked upsettingly, even though Harry thought that he caught some tint of bitterness, of _hurt,_ on the edge if his voice.

"I think you're just bitter, mate; bitter and blinded by your jealousy," the man with the black hair eventually told him his opinion boldly, staring up to him with daring eyes. Ron felt his heart jumping with unreasonable fear, as unexpected whispers from inside his head were making him feel somewhat weak and restless, without any defense on his side.

_**A guilty conscience grows.**_

_No! That's untruth! _

"Jealousy? Jealousy for what, exactly?" Ron asked him fast and ironically, clenching his palms to tight fists, trying almost desperately to hide the sweat of theirs, this bloody quivering…

"Don't play dump with me, Weasley; I know you since eleven and I saw how you grew closer and closer to her, how you wanted—" Harry spoke up, his tone quick, low and somewhat aggressive. Ron felt the need to back up, or maybe to run away, away from all this growing torture that made him nothing but distressed.

Why did it become such a torture? He shouldn't feel anything about it- he _didn't _feel anything, anything but deep, pure loath for her.

_**I'll feel a guilty conscience grow.**_

"Shut the fuck up, you nutter!" Ron muttered spitefully, his eyes darkened, his pulse all wild, yet his heart and mind battling with that great feeling of uncertainty.

"Hit a nerve, Ron?" Harry asked mockingly, his arms tangled across his chest, and after a moment, his eyes softened, all well his tone. "Why don't just admit the truth? The truth always makes you feel relieved, refreshed…"

"There's no more truth than the one we're living in, Harry, so just drop it!" Ron exclaimed edgily, his eyes widened with some annoyance, his nostrils fluttered with the losing of the temper…

His heart clenched uncomfortably at the truth, yet at the inaccuracy of these very words…

_No more truth than the one we're living in… _

Harry just shrugged this time, probably defeated and worn by the whole tension of their discussion and said after a shaky moment that he'd look for Ginny, finally leaving the redhead one alone, standing still and torn between sentiments conflicting, between two truths that meant nothing, yet everything…

_**I'll feel a guilty conscience grow.**_

Ever so slowly, ever so numbly and warily, Ron turned half around, his big, midnight blue eyes shamefully in search of _her_. The action alone made him angry, this time with himself, but he never stopped, he never dared to. His pupils wandered around secretly, only satisfied if they'd eventually rest on her, swallowing the sight of hers maybe even hungrily after years of not ever taking a glimpse of her. In the long run, he found her, still silent, listening to the conversations her little bastard made with other snobs of his kind, her hand resting on his forearm gently, his own possessively touching her bare waist, thus making the redhead's blood boil inside him, his fury hot enough to make it evaporate. At that moment, Ron wanted nothing more than to avert his eyes away from the two of them, knowing it was utterly worthless and unimportant, watching them like that, letting some stupid, old feelings strengthen inside him and possess him like this; he didn't care one bit about the whole thing, it was _her _fault for all this shit, for being like that at the time being… _all bloody hers._

Yet, he somehow couldn't push away that feeling… that it might not have been _just her_…

_**She burns like the sun**_

_**And I can't look away**_

He ordered his eyes to look elsewhere, anywhere in this bloody place but her unpleasant sight, the one that made his stomach churn and his chest all hot, the one that made him so very dizzy all of a sudden. He repeated that order again and again inwardly, pushing himself almost to the edge, but the orbs never rolled, the pupils never turned towards another destination; they were faithfully glued at her thin figure, the one that held that unnamed brilliance, that palpable… _beauty_. At the forming of this very word, of this realization in his head, Ron felt something snap inside him, he felt very much alarmed, and his orders turned gradually into desperate pleas, as he sensed that his stomach didn't actually churn in disgust, but it clenched and tightened with nervousness, some expectancy and release, as he realized that his torso was all warm not because of his so-called anger, but due to the inward rising of something else, much fierier than loathing…

And Ron asked more and more for some mercy from his eyes, to just look away from the abruptly painful sight, but his pupils only widened in craving to take huger dozes of her radiant, stunning image, only of her…

_No, this cannot happen, no…_

_**And she'll burn our horizons, **_

_**Make no mistakes.**_

The sprouting of this gradual realization- an apocalypse, really- made him even dizzier, to the point of feeling his knees wobble for a short moment. Too desperate to bury a hateful past deep inside, to a dark place in his heart or mind where not even himself would dare to approach, he tightly closed his eyes and pursed painfully his lips, so any signal would fly away from him, either from unexpected present or unwanted past. He took some deep, yet staggered breaths in hopes of calming down and gaining an immunity he deep-down knew he'd never had, and then he turned his body around slowly before eventually reopening his eyes and coming face to face with a plain wall. He stared at it for a few seconds, and he felt himself trembling as he sensed that the light reflecting on it seemed so much duller now, almost lifeless and distasteful, surely unable to satisfy the now huge yearning his eyes were used to. His breaths became uneven and deep, yet his soul all weak and unsure, bare before the vastness of the uncovered comprehension.

_No, Ron, don't do this, don't, it'll be disastrous and hurtful and then you know that everything will be on the surface again, every single memory, every little aching pinch of reality…_

_No, Ron, just don't do it…_

Yet Ron turned around, and stared at her again… although, something was definitely different this time…

His eyes widened more the moment he understood that _she_ was looking back at _him_, staring back with those dark, sparkling eyes that Ron had buried deep into forceful forgetfulness. His breath was slightly caught as he felt that weird kind of contact having a great effect on his insides, reactions almost rebellious. He obliged his heart to pound slower, even though the organ never obeyed, and tried to make his breathing soundless, knowing it'd be just fruitless to attempt its calming. He remained so very still to a numbing point, yet suddenly, like he was afraid it'd happen, everything else slipped out of his attention, anything and anyone else fogged to inexistence- only she existed, she only…

_Oh God, I become like this again… and, and I must not, I shouldn't… why she makes me…? _

_I have to hate her; I hate her. _Yet, the inner declaration seemed so unsteady…

Ron swallowed a bit hard as he was still gazing at the one woman before his eyes, the one who was still staring back with emotionless eyes. The man was in a peculiar state, one of a brutal, internal battle, where he was trying at the same time to get out of the rapid hypnotism and to get himself more into it, so deeply buried that no one could get to pull him out. He felt going all woozy and insane, the cause of it only this so known pair of chocolate brown eyes; though, to his surprise once more, these very dark orbs were capable to bring a new wave of reactions to him, just due to a slight, yet significant, change:

Her steady stare gradually transformed to a heartbreaking glare- and always addressed to _him_.

_Dear…_

That simple look full of pure loathing towards him made Ron feel even worse, if possible; swiftly, the remnants of his enforced anger flew away, like they had never seated deeply into his chest, and only these vast amounts of ache rushed back forcefully, destroying everything in their pass. He felt his lips trembling only a bit, his heavy breathing fast falling to inability to inhale, his heart drowning in a puddle of bloody mire- actually the sorrow he never dared to admit.

_Damn her! Why is she doing this to me, after all these years of trying and trying to erase her from my entire existence- and now she's here again! Appearing at the Ministry like nothing's wrong, showing off her wealth and husband, all the while staring at me… glaring at me just like she used to do to __**him**__, that little prick that now's holding her like a bloody trophy!_

_Why did she do this to me?_

Yet again, he knew some traces of the answer, but he pushed them weakly away, unable to face them, especially there.

_I need to get out of here… _and that's what he did, taking quick steps out of the hall, away from the chatting crowd, away from the hurt and the other, vivid emotions, if feasible; away from her presence, her whole-hearted glares, her… _flawlessness…_

He really had to go.

His firm, wide steps took him out of the immense room quickly enough, but still he couldn't feel too relaxed, too safe and protected, he needed to step further, too far. He took more strides, turning to various corridors randomly, just to hide from his torture and past.

All he looked-for at the moment was a sanctuary, a place to cleanse himself and his wounds uninterrupted.

Eventually, he reached a long corridor he couldn't really identify at the moment; its almost darkness and quiet suited him well, so with a much slower pace, he reached one side of the corridor and rested his body against the wall almost tiredly. He closed his eyes unhurriedly, not having much strength anymore, and he let himself drown in numbness, one so powerful that'd make him forget the incidents of the continuing night, actually everything that led to a particular, seven-year long period of life.

Was he asking too much? Probably he did, or his brain was too upset by her so abrupt appearance, as memories surfaced from the abyss of his heart, poking him to a painful point…

_Flashback:_

_The so strong influence of the alcohol once again prickled from under his skin, but Ron felt so cheery at the moment, so harmlessly lightheaded, that he didn't actually care about anything else. He, along with all his friends were having fun, loads of it, actually, so he had nothing to worry about, nothing to spoil the greatness of their relaxation._

_They were at Three Broomsticks since… well, he couldn't really remember, but he knew that they're there for quite a while, especially if he was able to see all those numerous glasses and bottles on their table- and no, it wasn't his tipsiness that made him look doubles or something, just the simple truth of it all! Well, yeah, the drinks had made him all joyous and loud, but come on; a young man at his 22 can't have some liquid fun or something?_

_Out of the blue, the air of the warm pub was filled with jazzy beat- music! Not knowing why, he started laughing a bit loudly, but no one in particular seemed annoyed by it; everyone seemed delightfully surprised by the pleasant, energetic tune and even some of his friends stood up and begun dancing, mostly in couples. Ron gazed at Harry and Ginny, making various moves, laughing and looking at each other with those admiring eyes, with their stares filled with adoration and whatever. Ron had the need first to stand up and vomit, but the thought easily disappeared from his mind, as his eyes unconsciously turned towards the other side of the big table, particularly to a still-sitting woman with a pale-yellow sundress and a loose bun of chestnut curls…_

_That evening, Ron really hadn't much self-constraint as regards gazing at Hermione Granger. Making her appearance just like that, all cute and sexy at the very same time, left him with almost no control over his eyes; he tried very hard not to look at her too much, especially when there was danger of her easily catching him, but the attractiveness, her warmth, every single thing he came to adore over the years left him with nothing more than simple, undeniable-to-him desire and utter worship for her. _

_Dear Merlin, he wanted her… And that so simple declaration, at last, made him take a decision. _

_He stood up quickly, not giving a second thought about it, because he knew that in case he did, he'd certainly chicken out. With sure, straight steps, he made his way around the table to eventually stand next to her. It took her only a few seconds to realize he was there, towering her silently, but the moment she did, she fixed him with a curious, steady look and an arched eyebrow. Ron decided to ignore them, 'cause he knew that he'd lose it completely and say something plainly stupid. _

"_Care to dance with me?" he told her casually, a cheerful tone in his voice just to cover some amount of nervousness inside him. He stared at her as she was most probably weighting up his offer, before finally, to his utter pleasure, she gave him a big smile and a positive answer; yes!_

"_If that's the case, then allow me, my fair lady…" he said in a very gentleman-like tone and offered his hand for her to take, which she did with laughter. Standing up, Hermione followed him to the small opening in the middle of the pub, where some couples were already dancing, and when finally reaching some end of it, Ron spun her around, till she was face to face with him, and certainly closer to his body. The redhead felt his heart pounding fast and hard from between his ribs, he ignored it though, as he was gazing at the woman before him, a thing way too important to waste his time over his own bodily reactions. His hands, despite their slight shaking, caught instantly her waist and brought her even closer to him, their bodies almost touching. Ron smiled to her widely and started to move them along with beat of the music, every single motion giving a new wave of energy to his every cell, as well another reason to love Hermione even greater. _

_They danced and danced carelessly, not giving much thought to anything but the fun of the moment. Ron felt his heart swell and swell every time he would catch a smile of hers, hear a sweet laughter or catch her in his arms, feeling her back pressed with his torso as they were moving together, in perfect, even intuitional synch. The man felt blissful like no other time, but as well, very much aroused. The smell of hers was tickling his nostrils tastefully, the way her hips moved enchanted him immensely, the sensation of her warm, curvy, so sexy body touching his, even for a couple of brief moments, made his blood hot, his pulse wild, his desire for her raw. Everything about her was simply overwhelming and at that moment, all he could do was remaining quiet and grabbing gently her hips, thus bringing her body tightly close to his. He felt her gasping softly as his arms snaked around her waist, his hips still moving with hers, though in a much slower rhythm, one that seemed sensual and nearly erotic. As his chest was pressed to her small back, he absently hided his face between her loose curls and the uncovered skin of her neck, inhaling its intoxicating scent of hers like a starved animal. He could sense some nerves of hers, but his drunken body and soul believed that after some warming up, everything would get just better. Without thinking much, he dove his head down to her neck and kissed the contour of it with hidden passion underlining perfectly his action; another gasp was barely audible, though Ron realized it was for a good reason…_

"_Meet me in the hallway behind the stairs…" he whispered hotly in her ear and nibbled on her earlobe for a second before pulling completely away from her, managing somehow to seem totally unaffected by the whole spent time with her in his arms, like it meant little to him. He didn't dare to throw at her form more than a glance, that showed him only some apparent astonishment in her face, and then he confidently and casually took his departure, leaving to the hallway, the place of their, hopefully, first, secret rendezvous… _

_Yeah, truth to be told, during those four years after the final war, after their very first kiss, Ron never made a move, but he just stayed like that, still wondering and rethinking over the facts. Yes, he was sure about his feelings, and yes, he could realize Hermione's, as well, but something had hold him there, letting him to show little of his affection to her like he really wanted. For four long years, he was attempting, at some moments, to pass some hints, to make some very feeble moves towards her, but never something major, something that'd establish a relationship between them… But with the fieriness of this growing passion inside him, and with the bravery that alcohol provided to him- thank God- Ron couldn't stand waiting any more, and he just hoped whole-heartedly that maybe that evening this situation would change._

_All that had to happen was her coming to him…_

_Not many minutes later- during which Ron's soul was filled with doubt, anxiety and lots of nerves- Hermione eventually appeared, looking all flashed and nearly breathless, like she was running her way there. However, that little worried Ron; all he was glad about was her coming to him, meeting him. _

"_Sorry; Ginny wanted to know—"_

"_I don't care; you came," Ron breathed unconsciously and instantly pulled her in his arms, kissing her passionately. Hermione responded at once to his kisses, wrapping her arms around his neck slowly, making Ron feel heavenly. His mouth, for a couple of long, wonderful moments, never dared to pull away from hers, so he just kissed her with more fervor, moaning at the sensation of her warm lips enveloped with his, of their tongues dancing more keenly than they did moments ago. She moaned back and that fuelled him more than imaginable, immediately sending shivers to the length of his spine and jolts of raw excitement down to his groin. Growing slightly impatient and definitely hungrier for her, he turned them around, so he could press her body on the wall behind her, and his own tightly on hers, yearning to feel her completely. The motion seemed to be pleasurable to her, as she kept on moaning in his mouth, her hands grasping locks of his hair strongly, movement that made him even more aroused. _

"_Fuck, Hermione, I want you," he whispered between their sound kisses, making Hermione whimper and kissing him harder, leading him surely on edge; almost ten years of pent-up tension and desire was more than enough to blind them at this moment of complete undoing… _

_Acting completely with his instincts, Ron pushed his pelvis to her, causing identical groans to come out of their lips. He kept on this particular motion of his hips in a continual, so very slow and sensual rhythm that got both of them sweatier and keener to keep up with this till the very end, till utter ecstasy would drunk them in a different, much more desirable way… _

_Quickly, he took his wet lips away from hers, and even though her whimper got him a bit soft and ready to comfort her, his intuition told him that it'd only get better…_

"_Ron…" Hermione breathed, her husky tone capable to send another wave of thrill down there; Ron groaned in response and hastily dove his head, occupying his hungry mouth with the sucking of her tender neck, getting in retort some very delicious sounds from her that made him stand at firm attention. _

_God, he really wanted her… _

_His hands, at the sound of this inner thought, started their own journey around her amazing body, feeling her sexy curves, kneading her soft, perfect mounds with heated gentleness, till his palms, all hot, trembling and eager, traveled eventually under her dress, touching the back of her thighs. Ron, if he was turned on before, wasn't sure how he was feeling now, the moment he was touching the smoothness of her skin, of her tender, marvelous flesh… _

_At the startle of this first, amazing contact, every reaction, every motion of his intensified to the top, leaving him all weak, yet firm, all soft and lustful. His lips ditched the delicious skin of her neck to suck behind her ear, the man seeking for an emitted sound of hers that'd fuel him even more. Fortunately, he wasn't disappointed, as he heard a throaty moan escaping from her luscious lips and her nails dug into his scalp. Ron moaned himself, and with the last remnants of endurance inside him fainting to inexistence, he pushed his left hand to the front of her thighs, fast finding the desired, sweet spot between them and touched it from over her underwear, feeling the wetness there unmistakably; that caused a louder moan coming from the depths of his hot chest and a powerful thrust from his part. _

_Merlin, he could die right then and there, in utter bliss and he wouldn't mind it one bit._

"_Ron…" he suddenly heard Hermione's breathless voice, but the man kept on sucking, feeling and thrusting, believing during his vast haze that it was a sexy endearment of hers. "Ron, please, stop…"_

_This time, he pulled his face away from her completely, and his movements came to a stop almost fearful. His midnight blue eyes, even slightly unfocused, managed somehow to look straight at her, as for the first time during all this heated moment, he got feared that maybe this wasn't what she wanted, after all, that he possibly misunderstood her, or worse, forced her to something unwanted; his heart thumped painfully. _

"_What is it?" Ron whispered gently and he suddenly realized just how out of breath he was. He quickly pushed aside that thought, though, at the waiting for her answer. He saw her half-smiling to him and that instantly got him relieved. _

"_It's just that… well," she started slowly and coyly, and surely slight breathlessly as well. "I want to ask you something before we… we keep going with that."_

"_Yeah, sure thing, baby," he said with a low, cheeky chuckle and he started showering her jaw-line with brief kisses that definitely shown his huge longing. "Go ahead so we can have some fun…" he whispered unconsciously, his mind fogged with the intoxicating stir of the alcohol and her sexiness. _

"_Do you love me?"_

_That single, so plain question made Ron freeze on the spot, his mind completely still and quite unsure if the words he had heard were truly the ones she had pronounced. Slowly, he straightened his neck so he could look down at her face properly; he observed her flashed, yet serious face, her want to take an answer from him. Ron at the moment felt somewhat lost, as the suddenness of her query after lustful moments and the still apparent control of the alcohol had made his mind fogged and unfocused, quite unable to comprehend fully the swift turn of their state._

"_Ron, do you love me? Do you?" Hermione repeated to him, her voice now gaining a more desperate and vaguely impatient tint, one that got Ron slightly uneasy and unsure. The gleam in her eyes made his heart kick his ribs strongly, yet Ron, even though he knew too well the answer, unexpectedly didn't know what to say to her; in his mind popped many of scenarios, all of them with dreadful endings that did nothing to soothe his nervous spirits. His heart screamed 'yes' over and over again, believing in a very blissful epilogue of his love drama, but on the other hand, his head was still pushing forward these torturous wonderings and insecurities, these ones that ate him up little by little mostly during his all life. His eyes were staring at her almost emotionlessly; his mind was wandering far away through that now unbearable mist provided by strong liquor… What if, if…?_

_Do you love me, Ron?_

"_No."_

_That single word slipped out of his trembling lips almost unconsciously, and his eyes widened some at the belated realization of such mistaken confession. He sensed his blood freeze inside his veins and his heart coming to a halt, as his pupils stared down at Hermione, a Hermione just as shocked as him. Her dark eyes gazed back at him, though their shine was totally gone, like it was never there to grace them. He felt her body stiffen against his, then shuddering nearly uncontrollably and her orbs gained then another kind of gleam, a terrible, hurtful one. With the pass of that agonizing stillness and silence, Ron could grasp more and more his huge mistake, as that hateful fog disappeared instantly from his head, making him see clearer everything, firstly his stupid behaviour. With the crazy beating of his heart reaching his throat to a struggling point, Ron opened his mouth after some timeless moments, in hopes to explain himself; however, the moment his mouth was hesitantly half-open, Hermione snapped out of the blue, raising her hand and slapping him in the cheek hard._

"_I can't honestly b-believe that…" she whispered, her voice hard despite its some quiver, and surely cold as ice. "You… You brought me here, doing all these… _indescribable things_… just, just to have _fun_, not caring about…" she continued harshly, yet still lowly, her mind wandering around horrible possibilities, which at the moment seemed so very feasible. Ron, at the realization of the unfinished words felt even worse and quickly tried to make clear his words, his actions… _

"_No, Hermione, I—"_

"_No, I don't want to hear it," she spat and she forcefully pushed him away from her, the motion making the man feeling all cold and helpless, all miserable and half- he certainly had to explain. _

"_Hermione, please, listen to me…"_

"_You made yourself quite plain, you selfish bastard!" she breathed dangerously and Ron feared her for a moment, feeling his heart clench at the sound of her poisonous tone, of her so painful words to him. He remained perfectly still, unable to do nothing more than stare at her and drowning in this vast ocean of brutality, ache and regret. He felt his eyes sting but that never made him look elsewhere, but only at her, as she was taking steps away from him firmly, steadily- his heart pounded hard, agonizingly hard, as it was screaming out the probable loss of its one reason to exist, to function eagerly._

_It would never get better; only worse…_

"_Hermione…" he choked out desperately, at a meager, last attempt to get her attention, to make her, if at all possible, listen to him. She indeed turned around to throw him a trembling glare, though, as she parted her lips without much hesitation, Ron was absolutely sure that he had completely lost it:_

"_You'll regret for that one, Ronald Weasley."_

_And undeniably, he did… Eight months later, the news about Hermione Granger's wedding to Draco Malfoy was vastly spread around the wizarding world…_

_The day of his internal death… and of his abrupt, frail promise to hate her forever…_

_End of Flashback._

The reliving of such an intense, by any means, memory, got Ron all shaky and fearful, to the point of feeling that sting on the behind of his eyeballs. He closed the eyelids tightly, so any betraying wetness would disappear, maybe, hopefully, along with the venom of the past few years. He kept murmuring to himself that he had to gather his wits, to remember where he was, how he was supposed to behave. He weakly let some guards around him shatter, knowing now that it was actually futile to fight with his deepest instincts, with the greatest, most vivid sentiments of his extraordinary life; if he really wanted to find some kind of inner peace- even inadequate- he had to admit to himself who he really was, what were his troubles, his mistakes, his whatever…

If it meant to get some scanty piece of tranquility…

_**Come let the truth be shared,**_

"Well, well, well, look who's still unable to handle properly the demands of a social event…"

The voice startled him to a great extend, at least, and managed to make his eyes pop wide open in milliseconds, really. He had thought that he was all alone, hidden by the shadows of the deserted corridor, but he barely managed to savour that isolation. His pupils widened as the sight right before him left him all shocked and upset.

_Hermione._

Just the forming of her name in his mind threatened to send violent shivers all over his body, but taking an unnoticeably deep breath, he attempted to subside the reactions of his body to a very mild, momentary tremor of his limps. His eyes were faithfully glued at her form, a form that was not that close, but after so many years of not seeing her, not hearing her, not _sensing _her near him, that closure seemed particularly dangerous. Her posture was one that surely was wrapped with the air of confidence, of great importance, and coolness that didn't suit her. With the echoes of her very first words after almost eight years of partial deafness, Ron felt his heart in much more pain that it'd probably experience if a jagged knife passed right through it. Her eyes dropped poison, along with the satisfaction of disparaging him, and even though that hurt much more, the man decided that he wouldn't let her see his ache, his sorrow; it was one thing to admit it openly to himself now, but he didn't dare to show her his greatest of weaknesses, to give her more weapons to hit him with.

"Well, I hadn't a self-centered spouse to explain to me how to show off around other little, arrogant, wealthy snobs like _you_…" Ron spat lowly, angrily, venomously, even though the sting of his words was half-heartedly shot to bruise her ego and pride- he hadn't the heart or the strength to cause her more pain, if possible, but he also couldn't let himself undefended in front of her.

Her eyes, at the sound of his retort, sparked severely. "How dare you, speaking to me like _that_?"

"Like you don't give me the raise to speak like that to you!" Ron exclaimed, this time feeling hot fury boiling inside him for real, overpowering somewhat the feelings of sadness due to others of the injustice he felt surrounding him and struggling him. "You went off to marry that little ferret!"

"And what else did you expected me to do, Ronald Weasley?" Hermione cried out, her beautiful face tinted red because of her obvious rage, her characteristics pulled out because of it. A beast he didn't know he possessed roared inside his chest and he stood up on his feet straight, feeling more powerful now as his own, reawaken anger was running full-force in his veins, driving him almost crazy.

_**No one ever dared**_

"To let me explain! To come back to me!" Ron yelled before understanding what words his tongue was forming on its own. He felt his blood coming hot and resting on his face and neck, but he chose quickly to ignore the stupid fact. Hermione instantly scoffed and tangled her arms on her chest tightly.

"Ha, ha, ha…" she let out a bitchy, pointed, so icy laughter fill the already heavy air between them. "Come back _where exactly_? _To you_? That's hilarious, Weasley, me coming willingly to meet you, let you explain your _hideous_ behaviour like you have the right to do so… You're disgusting me, you and your crudeness."

Something inside him broke some at her words, but he quickly shrugged it off. "Oh, I see that eight years with beloved Drake made you just a spit image of him; all toffee-nosed, coldhearted snob that cares about nothing more than her bloody image and the money in her pursue…"

"Shut your bloody mouth, you idiot child!" she cried out hotly, taking an angry step towards him, the power of which made some of her brown locks of hair escape from her well-made bun. Ron laughed unconsciously at this; his own chuckle seemed strange and unfamiliar with all its sarcasm and sharpness. "What, you think you're more than that? Well, sorry to break it to you, Ronald, but you're just a, a selfish, v-vulgar rapist, and you so proudly proved that millions of times! First off with Fleur, goggling at her like a starved man, even when she was _engaged _to your _brother_, and then there was Lavender Brown, when you just showed how insensitive and ill-mannered you were, not caring about anything else but how to shove your tongue and hands everywhere she let you! And then… and then you dared to try your foul ways on _me_- not once ounce of decency apparent in that minute brain of yours! You were always like that, Ronald, and of course, how should I believe that you'd ever change your tactics? The one that didn't care to grope his girlfriend around the entire school, the one that chose so effortlessly to ditch his best friends in the middle of hell to secure his own well-being, plainly to save his poor arse!"

By the end of it, Hermione was almost screaming, her body was shaking hard, her breath was coming out loudly, hot and hard, her eyes were fiery and were glaring towards him. Ron, at the very same time, felt enraged and miserable, hot and wintry, yet surely on that bloody, abysmal hell.

"That's so very rich from you, Hermione, talking about selfishness!" the man spat poisonously, stepping forward as well, and knowing too well that if she intended to hurt him mercilessly, he'd return the favor ten-folded, in hopes of understanding, even viciously, how he was feeling.

He'd fight fire with fire, even if that meant that he'd get himself burnt in the process.

"And what about you, you little minx? Always throwing yourself without second thought to whomever had the fame and the money to feed enough your huge, fucking ego… Victor fucking Krum, the certainly-not-poor git that got you all squeaky and what-not; Cormac McLaggen, that bloody sod that was famous enough to be worthy of a shag, even though eventually even _you_ couldn't stand his appalling behavior… But your outstanding achievement was your wedding with that… that beyond-description husband of yours, _Mr. Draco Malfoy_… Where should I start from? From the fact that he was the most reviled enemy of us at school, the biggest bully ever existent? From the fact that he put our, especially Harry's, life into not-so-light danger whenever he got bored of staring at his reflection or whatever other fucking shit he does all the time? From the fact that he had a bloody Dark Mark on his arm, just like all of his barmy family? From the habit of his- oh, what a _tremendously lovely habit_- of calling _you _all the time that… that sickening name? O-Or maybe from the fact that you- _you indeed_- punched _him_ right on his shitty face with all your loathing given heartily during third year?"

_**To break these endless lies, **_

_**Secretly she cries.**_

He bellowed all these things hotly, quickly, maybe even unconsciously. His head was heavy because of the power of his yells; his breaths were too, yet his chest strangely more weightless. At long, long last, there had to be put an end to _his _lies, to his covered, or at least half-covered excuses; yes, he had felt all these, he had suffered vastly from all these, yet betrayal was just a little thing that occurred to him- the pain of the loss, the plain thought of certain, perpetual isolation till his expiring was poisoning and leading his mind to blindness much more.

And ever so suddenly, Ron saw Hermione completely losing it, getting much more furious, yet this wildness was one of another kind; she took unsteady steps towards him, her petite form was shuddering scarily much and unmistakably, Ron saw her eyes gaining fast a watery shine, one that shocked him more than imaginable.

"And you think that this was easy for me?" Hermione screeched, her tone a mix of still-apparent anger and approaching shattering. "Do you think that it was easy, suddenly coming to terms with such a painful realization? Do you have any idea how much your words cut me? I had to make you suffer with any way possible, and I did it! But you believe that this was a marvel for me? Living in a hell with that sneaky bastard, letting him touch me every other night because I gave him the bloody right to do so! It was torturous and dreadful and you simply have no idea how I felt about the worst eight years of my whole life!"

Her so plain words filled forcefully the air between them, their stormy power finally able to destroy every remaining mask or lie around them, everything fake and pretentious; it was just them, a shattered woman and a broken man, naked before each other and in front of the pile of their mistakes, an evoking of eight hollow years that added nothing more to the pair than vast ache and acrimony…

Her tears eventually fell as her eyes were staring back to his unblinking ones.

"You… You certainly didn't miss your blow… I couldn't bear with all these things happening back then- the hearing of such news…" Ron finally whispered after uncomfortable moments, his voice tiny and unsure, as he was eyeing her from between thick eyelashes hesitantly, unsure of any reaction after their explosion. The vastness of such revelation from her part, her reaction, was too overwhelming for him to comprehend it fully or to know how to handle it well; all he could feel was a numbing feeling all over, from head to toe.

All he wanted to do was run to her and envelope her in his arms till her tears would disappear, till his presence would comfort her pain and every other appalling sentiment in her soul- yet, he remained rooted on that spot away from her, afraid to do anything bold.

_**She burns like the sun **_

_**And I can't look away**_

_**And she'll burn our horizons**_

_**Make no mistakes.**_

He kept staring and staring, now at her averted face that was half-hidden in the harsh shadows of the corridor and their hearts' darkness; the moment was downright surreal, almost pushing the redhead man to a breaking point, almost losing any droplet of sanity and logic inside him. The sight of her pained face, of the tears coursing down her pale cheeks like rivers of bitterness was like a painful pinch on the heart, like a sting that caused him at the same time soreness and release, a very sprouting sensation of rebirth that made him feel so very weightless, something he couldn't really understand. It was bizarre, but Ron belatedly understood that nothing made actually sense in his life, so he accepted it absentmindedly, as his mind and soul were gradually drowning in vivid sensations and sentiments, all centered in the one person that was standing before him.

"The hearing of such news literally killed me, Hermione…" he breathed out after some more seconds, completing his previous words like they were unfinished, even though they actually were. His voice cracked on the last three words, showing finally the weakness his whole body carried for so many years, not able to handle it anymore. His eyes blinked as they were unstoppably staring at the crying woman of his dreams, now unable to look away from her without that heavy feeling of shame eating him up; he felt them wet as well, yet he didn't care, he couldn't care. His heart had changed through its static perspective, it could admit the feelings of the man without much care or notice- everything was out; all Ron needed now was a push to probable heaven or possible hell… he was hanging from a reaction of hers.

Slowly just like the falling of the dust, Hermione turned her head towards him once again, looking at his shadowy face with watery, bloodshot eyes and a still expression on her own face. Her dark orbs examined him carefully, most probably trying to get hold of the echoes of his own revelation. After minutes that seemed more like eons to Ron, whose heart pounded harder than ever and whose limps trembled to a scary point, the man dared to take a shaky mouthful of air inside him, as he eventually saw those beautifully shaped lips part, in decision to either save or crucify…

"As did that one word of yours, eight years ago…" she whispered with a shaky voice; Ron dared to take a step closer to her, his eyes wider and his palms sweatier, shakier, his heart much more restless and hopeful.

"I never meant it. It was untrue, it was a mistake of my heart, just because I was afraid… so afraid of losing you, Hermione…"

"You thought that saying 'no' would make anything between us better?" Hermione asked lowly, also taking a tiny step forward. Ron's heart skipped a few beats, his skin got hotter and sweatier and his spine more and more shivering as this low, heartfelt dialogue was taking place, maybe even bringing him to point desirable, one of utter bliss and liberty; his hope sprouted wildly.

"My mind was fogged, my sense all gone, just to be replaced by my vast insecurities and doubts… Have you thought that a moment shared between us like that one could possibly make me have belief in myself?" Ron told her quickly, breathily, pretty unconsciously, as the steps were also being taken towards her. The desperation of another kind was growing inside him, becoming almost intolerable, and Ron thought that he'd kill himself if he didn't touch her, if Hermione…

"But didn't you have faith in me, Ron?" Hermione almost choked out as she was staring faithfully back at him, all the while another wave of bitter tears surfaced in her painfully stunning eyes. "I thought you knew, I thought you'd have realized by then that I…"

She trailed off just the moment Ron finally reached her and stood so close to her, nearly touching her body with his own. He looked down at her with desperate eyes, ones that asked for that craved release to occur, just from that possible word that was hooked on her lips… oh, those luscious lips…

"_Please_, Hermione… you _what_?" Ron whimpered almost inaudibly, his body shaking as much as his heart, both from agony and this sensation of the closure between the familiar bodies. The memories were awakened once again, this time by his intuitional feelings, as her scent was entrapped between his lungs and her body's warmth was pulling him like a magnet. He remembered, despite the immensity of his love for her, his body's yearnings for her, his deep desire to touch her and feel her and the utter feeling of ecstasy with her… it was inspirational, it was intoxicating, it was desperate and roughly insane, and Ron knew that everything could be forever lost if that one word of hers wasn't the one he craved to hear.

That particular moment was similar to that fateful one nearly a decade ago, though the roles were reversed… Ron understood now her anxiousness, her agony, but hoped with every little cell of his entire being that he wouldn't ever _completely_ understand how she felt afterwards his own slip back then…

"_That I love you…" _

At first he wasn't sure if he had heard correctly; his body was already overreacting over something that hadn't still happened and his ears were buzzing, his mind was dizzy. But at the so soft tone of hers that didn't go unnoticed to him, at the look of hers that through those millions of tears seemed so genuine and kind, so _hers_, Ron's heart realized much, so much more than his mind, and belatedly he understood that he sobbed.

"A-Ask me… Ask me again," he whispered after some odd seconds of intense silence, and his body, in instinctual anxiety leaned some towards hers, and his head lowered near hers, so his half-open, trembling lips would shower with hot, uneven breaths her forehead and temple. Hermione shivered a bit at his so open, so weak behaviour and whimpered for a second before looking up at him, her eyes still a bit watery, but much more sure and decisive at the time, a thing that soothed the man's heart unexplainably.

"D-Do… Do you love me, Ron?" He took a so very deep breath before finally saying the words that burnt into his chest since forever:

"I do… I do love you so much, Hermione Granger."

The words, the moment that got freed from his mouth, were the cause of a chain of magical reactions till then unknown to the pair in the middle of the dim-lit corridor. Ron felt his heart burning and rebirthing from its ashes, the new one stronger, fuller, much more alive than the shattered, previous one; his breaths had a meaning to be existent and reached even the furthest cell of his lungs, while his blood was cleansed and flowing powerfully inside his veins, eager to give life to the previously dead spirit. And with only one look at Hermione, Ron was able to understand that she felt exactly the same…

Without one single doubt overshadowing his intense bliss and love, Ron found her lips with his own ones, showering them with desperate feather-kisses that returned back to him as her own response. With the passing of the minutes, the feather-kisses turned to needy, long ones that gained more and more passion, lust and despair with every single second shattering on the floor around them; time didn't matter anymore for them, infinity had thankfully dawned…

With that little gap between them seeming exceptionally torturous and painful, Ron ordered his arms to touch her and bring her closer, till they would be inescapably that desirable one he yearned for eons to occur. The hands were oddly eager to follow the instructions and instinctually grabbed her waist, making her petite, warm body press tightly with his, as a result bringing soft moans of completion from both sides. The kiss grew harder as both sets of arms and hands were feverishly working their ways around the reminiscing of desired bodies, touching, kneading and pulling everything within reach, with, and simultaneously without care, selfishly, yet also selflessly, in need to both seize and offer everything they could find.

Desperation was mingled with worship, lust with fading ache; everything was there, with them, yet everything was abandoning them, leaving them essentially alone…

The fervor of their kisses and actions couldn't be quenched that easily or so quickly, and certainly not in the middle of a half-dark corridor. Ron could effortlessly feel that pull that was holding him tightly, undeniably with her, as well the hotness from his stomach down, that psychosomatic reaction that he hadn't sensed for years and he was blissful to feel again. He groaned in her mouth almost in an animalistic way, his hands travelling fast around her curvy, heavenly body, massaging her breasts and enjoying the delicious sounds coming out from her in response. His lips, all wet, warm and swollen, left her wonderful ones only to mark possessively, desirably the sensitive skin of her white neck all the while feeling more and more turned on at the whole sensation, as her mouth was forming sounds of so sincere pleasure, as her small fingers were tangled between his hair, pulling amazingly locks of ginger hair, as her body was trying desperately to come even closer to his like it was the only way to completion, or even heaven.

He absolutely felt no different and kissed her lips again with pure need, still not fully able to feel utterly complete, nowhere near that, even catastrophic feeling of undoing and entire relief.

"God, I want you… I-I need you, Hermione…" Ron breathed between searing, earth-shaking kisses of downright psychosis and vehemence, all the while feeling his blood running too hot in him, making his pulse unreachable almost to an ending point, his breaths non-existent, yet so very apparent and heavy, an insufficient way to survive anymore.

Oxygen meant nothing; air was not the thing neither his lungs nor his entire body cried out for…

_She. Was. Life._

Her low, desperate moan and her firmer fingers between his locks of gradually sweating hair were implying more than a plain answer ever could, and Ron crashed his lips down to hers again, sucking her luscious, bottom lip and her love, her entire soul altogether, trying to feed himself with everything she could offer to him, tangible or not. Yet, the thirst wasn't able to be quenched with all the kisses and bites and licks of the world, this burning hunger couldn't be tamed with that heated groping and pulling and grinding; everything was stimulating, arousing, simply everything, yet nothing at all. Not if the greatest act wasn't taking shape between and inside them, not if their silent vows of bonded eternity weren't consummated, signed by blood and sweat and declared with the most unashamed cry of the universe.

No; Ron would feel steely complete only then, at this moment of Earth meeting with Heaven and Hell at the same time, and knew Hermione would need the same.

While that so addictive, essential bond of body and soul, the couple started moving at the dimly lit corridor without much balance or care. Ron pushed his body tightly on Hermione's till she was pressed on the wall almost hurtfully, but neither cared, neither had the mind to even think about it. As if by some very powerful, magic force, their intimate moment grew, if possible, more heated and despaired, like both Ron and Hermione were suddenly transformed to some kind of filthy Dementors: kissing each other so deeply so they could suck every droplet of happiness from their partner eternally, stealing everything sweet and worth-remembering from each other so they could feed themselves with the bliss that couldn't be found in the last eight-or-so years of life…

Yet, the only thing they did was breathing into each other the essential motivation to further living, to vivified harmony…

The kissing gradually and the grabbing weren't so adequate or fulfilling like minutes ago, the need for something grander was flowing in their blood like virus: contagious and fast formed within them. With the echoes of their kisses filling the air, they blindly moved around the corridor, too desperate and addictive to leave each other, either in the course of achieving something much more crucial and miraculous. After moments of mad searching and anxious fumbling around each other's overheated bodies, Ron's hand touched something cold and metal, something that even through the lust's fog could be deciphered as a doorknob. Excited with the new finding, he moaned eagerly into Hermione's sweet mouth and turned the doorknob quickly, feeling the beats of his blissfully drunk heart getting more uneven and hard, the organ, too, getting really expectant with the wild flowing of the time.

The moment of the utter completion was nearing… His whole body, his entire soul could sense, feel and savour such a breathtaking discovery- and Ron was more than delighted for that.

Without prolonging unnecessarily the moment, Ron and Hermione hastily entered the room, still tightly embraced and controlled by the fiery kisses. The man kicked the door closed behind him and while still avidly kissing Hermione and reaching every inch of her, covered or uncovered, body, he managed somehow to find a leather armchair, but the sensation of it under his fingertips wasn't right, so he pushed Hermione even closer to his body and simultaneously away from the armchair, trying to find out another, more comfortable place to…

"There's…" Hermione suddenly gasped, departing painfully her lips from his swollen ones, "There's a-a sofa somewhere here… R-Right there," she finished breathlessly, unwillingly taking her shaky hand from inside his shirt and pointing weakly some long steps behind her, where a big, spacious sofa was indeed apparent, tempting them with their seemingly silky feeling to go there and be embraced by its comfort, as they would surely explore these still uncharted territories of lust and bliss…

With blind steps and renewed want to dive in the ocean of fulfillment, Ron and Hermione eventually reached the awaiting couch, all the while eagerly starting to push or take off offending articles of clothing; the need to be bare and fully alone, without the company of any unnecessary other, was vast and essential to be satisfied immediately. Only seconds later, most of the clothes were wrinkled and abandoned on the hard, cold floor, whereas the couple was lying on the couch already, kissing, touching and closely embracing during that, unfortunately inevitable moments of somewhat distance, so they could, somehow, prepare themselves for that ultimate moment of still and mating…

Final deserting himself from the last piece of fabric on his sweaty and overheated body, Ron decided with foggy mind to break the sound kiss with the woman under him, and feeling his lips almost sore from such frantic and raw kissing, he half-opened already heavy lids, so he could look in the dark at the beauty below, at her alabaster, soft skin, at her humid, luscious, scarlet lips and eventually, at those dark, intoxicating magnets of chocolate brown, with the now enlarged, wonderful pupils that stared back at him with awe and purity, with burning and that, that inexplicable, yet so divine touch of innocence that would suit only to her brilliance, even after eight or so eons of ache and despair and bitterness. Ron's eyes burned and drowned in never-falling tears of relief and raw bliss, of still apparent astonishment and that touch of wonder in his soul- that enormous, amazing wonder of how, _how_, he was able to feel and sense and _savour_ such delicate emotions and sensations, how the heck he got that sacred blessing to know how it actually feels to be bonded with the other half of self.

And most of all, Ron felt those tears because of that sprouting, wonderful, old sentiment of love he could feel both inside him as well in those doe eyes staring back at him shamelessly.

That was how it should be; shameless, loud and unhidden, a love that could conquer everything, till the end of times.

"I really… really love you, Hermione," he whispered with broken, husky voice that mirrored somehow his entire state, all the while a trembling hand of his touched almost fearfully her flushed, warm cheek, a motion that made his palm sweatier and the pulsation at his wrist so hard and wild to the point of clear visibility. She smiled to him shakily, but never emotionlessly or half-heartedly. "Please, forgive me…"

"I forgive you, Ron, and I love you, too, but please, forgive me as well, forgive me for throwing us into so many years of hurt and loneliness…" she breathed with a lump on her throat most probably making her suffer more. The man, naked from clothes and any kind of pretence of false sentiments, kissed the value between her eyebrows softly and brushed his lips on her salty, soft skin as he was saying sincerely the words:

"It was never your fault entirely, never. It was ours, Hermione." He kissed both her eyelids with that same gentleness and the side of her nose before continuing. "I forgive you as well."

And after that final words, he pressed his lips once more onto hers, thus pulling both of them to restocked flames of lust and love. Responding to him with such power, Ron growled and kneaded her body almost greedily while his hips started moving the way they yearned to for so long, probably longer than the conscious could ever recall. Hermione moaned as well, most probably liking the incomplete friction of theirs, and moved up her own, beautiful and curvy hips to meet his own, as her hands grabbed blindly the flexed muscles of his back. The sting there because of her nails made Ron growl again, in a mix of pain and pleasure both due to the slight scratches and the teasing sensation provided by feeling her liquid arousal on him, but still not tightly around him as he craved for wholeheartedly. He grunted more as his moves because more frenzied, thus the brunette below him moaned in an identical blend of ache and excitement.

"Ron…" she panted loudly, one her tiny, sweaty hands travelled between wet, auburn locks and grasped some strongly, so sapphire eyes would surely look back at hers. "P-Please…"

And the man obliged more than willingly, throwing the pair of them to a blissful abyss of contentment and fulfillment.

They were one, body and soul, inescapably, _eternally_…

It took Ron a tiny moment to wholly realize the enormity of such bond, of such seemingly indifferent contact. His heart stayed still for a second, or maybe two, before drowning in the ocean of relief and pleasure and love. It was unique, a breathtaking moment that made life precious and truly worthy, an experience that made a probable sacrifice in the name of love so very understandable. His heart then begun beating faster and faster and his breaths became uneven and loud during that moment of apocalypse, of certain rebirth of a new being, one freed from all the agonies and the dark…

Yes, that was it… They were becoming _divine_…

Feeling that surge deep inside him like it was an instinct of his, Ron pushed himself deep inside Hermione, till he filled her completely and felt more like _himself_ the second he was so wrapped by her warm tightness- it was inspiring, and totally breathtaking. Both gasped and simultaneously, they started moving heatedly around each other, with arms warm and sweaty and ready snake around bodies that were dancing that old as time, dance of worship and survival…

Everything was vital now, especially the tangible presence of each other.

"I love you," Ron breathed shakily as he was thrusting slowly and still hard inside her body, as his quivering palms were praising her glowing skin, as his lips were sucking with despair the smoothness of her neck. "_I love you…_"

And his whispers filled the air in the room along with her sighs and chokes and travelled towards heavens, an actual praising towards God for such a bless…

_I love you…_

And unknown how much time later, indifferent inside that space of theirs, a cry of unhidden bliss was let out by moistened lips of a loved woman, and the man above her, sensing to the top her so awe-inspiring emotions, feeling her nails digging too deep into his shoulders and her heart pounding so lively and fast, cried himself, let go away from his body all that tight blend of whichever kind of tension, desirable or harming, everything.

He was finally a free man; and more importantly, he was not a lone man anymore.

The world could halt to a cease, universe could be destroyed and time could expire… he didn't care; he had Hermione by his side till infinity.

That should only matter till his soul would escape from the bounds of his body… no, even then, his, _their_ love would be alive.

For some minutes, Ron and Hermione stayed immobile in their intimate, tightly close position, with their legs intertwined, with Ron's head resting gently on top of her right shoulder, all the while Hermione's fingers eventually relaxed on his body, and ever so kindly caressed the raw marks she herself had left on his pale skin, a wonderful proof to Ron that they were indeed there, pulling away the pretence and uncovered something much grander than the accidental offence of the past.

When their breathing was finally even, and their bodies and souls were much more tranquil around the environment and each other's presence, Ron shifted ever so slightly, so his lips could graze her collarbone and then leant up to kiss her sweet lips and smile ever so softly up to her; a sincere smile of his after a period of constant dark. They kissed slowly for a couple of long, still moments and Ron's heart swelled more in bliss as he felt her tiny, soft fingers playing almost lazily with his hair. When the kiss was regretfully put to a cease, Hermione nuzzled his nose with hers, thus making Ron seeking for that beautiful gaze of hers.

After a kind staring match, Hermione spoke ever so gently: "I think we should get back ready…"

The words had a strange impact on Ron; he felt his heart abruptly shrinking to a tight, clenched ball of slight ache and its beating became dull, as some rays of the still apparent reality blinded him with their force. He realized that now, there were two realities existent: one inside that warm, moonlit room that included only them and their undying love for each other, yet the other… the other was still feeding with eagerness the pretence and the lies and the mistakes that same pair of people managed to built and enhance during times of animosity and will for revenge.

He wasn't sure about what he should do about it. He knew- he was absolutely sure- what he _desired most _to do, but he wasn't sure how far or how close these two perspectives were.

Wordlessly, he just gave her a half-hearted nod as a response, and slowly, he escaped from the wondrous contact of theirs, standing up between the shadows of the dark and the caresses of the silver moonlight and starting with slow, almost graceful motions to put pieces of fabric back on his trembling, damp body. That exact feeling of the cold, cheap fabric on his muscles felt so strange for him, especially then, after that moment of revival… He hated that costume even more at the moment.

While buttoning his white, now wrinkled shirt, he eventually dared to throw a hidden glance at Hermione with the tail of his eye. She was also getting ready, throwing over her head the silky dress so it could hug with the most elegant and fluid motion every curve of her half-naked body, till all but her slender back was hidden from him and the faintest of moonbeams. He quickly averted his eyes from her, suddenly feeling somewhat nervous and distant with her, like they were strangers to each other, like they were some people only trying to seek some kind of raw, animalistic sexual pleasure in the company of one another and after that, they were some satisfied, insensitive ignorants estranging themselves from the real happiness.

It was absurd, but he suddenly felt like that, all alone again, especially after some moonlight reflected on the gold and the diamond on her finger…

He finished dressing himself, trying to put into place the millions of tangled, dizzying thoughts. One particular thought though was constantly popping in his head, probing his logic and heart in an almost teasing way. Ron knew that this was it though, the one thing that he cared to think as the only one appropriate in the case; forget the rules and that reality was waiting for them outside the room, or whatever other obstacle that was always in the way to fulfill his one, deepest want.

And as he observed from under his eyelashes the hateful look she was throwing at her wedding band, he was filled with surety and decided that this was the only right thing existent.

He approached her quietly from behind, till his torso was almost touching her back. It must have taken her a bit to realize his presence so close to hers, or she was preoccupied in her own thoughts, as she turned around some moments later so she could face him with that pair of huge, dark brown eyes that magnetized him like nothing else- he was already drowning in her presence, for a moment forgetting the existence of the rest of the world, till he heard that little voice in his head, reminding him that undesirable truth, but also the way of escaping from it.

A hasty, little gasp was audible in the air between them out of the blue, a thing that instantly got Ron to look down to her with more attention, and then, with rapidly growing concern. Her lovely face was twisted in a mask of pain, as puffs of air were still escaping with some difficulty from her mouth, and her one hand was on her chest, clutching quite hard the place where her heart was. Ron's eyes bulged some and without a second thought, he took another step closer to her form, trying to figure out what was happening, as well as what he could do to ease that mask of ache off from her fair face; his own heart was clenching with the anxiety from such a hurtful sight.

"Hermione, what's wrong? Are you alright?" he asked with downright worry lacing clearly in his voice while he was looking down at her somewhat pained face with crystal blue eyes that mirrored perfectly the colour of his tone. He made a move to touch her arm, but he quickly second-thought that decision of his, in fear of causing her, if that was feasible, somewhat more harm at the moment.

Hermione took a deep, staggering breath before eventually looking up at him, her doe eyes gazing at him with the darkness of the hurt staining the beauty there almost irreplaceably. "My heart," she just whispered after some seconds, her voice a bit weak. Ron, at those little words, got even more frightened, and started breathing a bit higher and heavier in the course of alarm waking his body's instinctual mechanisms. He tried to speak, so he'd be able to understand what was wrong, but his mouth was all dry and glued, in no condition to utter some words of the panic felt at the time being; however, she got him to it by speaking once again, this time, thankfully, more steadily:

"I have a problem with my heart, from birth, but it got worse during the hunt," she explained to him calmly and then drew inside her another lungful of oxygen with less tremor or pain; she seemed slightly better and more calm, and that managed to tame somewhat the hard beating of Ron's heart. "I never wanted to tell you, there was no actual need- I didn't want to worry you or Harry for no reason, I could very well handle it," she spoke to him once more, when she completely understood what his huge eyes were saying to her. Ron nodded once in response, even though he wasn't sure of how to respond to such a painful discovery about her. "It hurts from time to time, you know, when I'm working myself too hard, or when I'm really depressed or too emotionally worn out…" Hermione explained further to him, like it was something she needed to do, giving to him every little detail about it; not the actual pain of hers, a little knife to Ron's heart, but that one thing about her, another thing that she could share with him like it was supposed to be done; he must know everything about her because of that internal need, and Hermione seemed to decipher that fully. Ron nodded once again to her, feeling his eyes drowning in sympathy that she could definitely see and sense in her soul, something that somehow comforted the man. Hermione gazed up to his eyes for a second, before a tiny, but so brilliant smile of hers covered kindly his pink lips and reached her dark eyes like the grace of the entire universe; it was magical, but in not the way Ron was accustomed with from the day he was born…

She opened her lips slowly, and the words got free like birds: "But… But it's on its way to mending now..."

Ron's own heart fluttered in his chest hopefully as he was staring back into her chocolate brown eyes with everything he had in him. The words from her warmed his body with arising waves of optimism and in his mind, despite the delight of such an admit from her part, he kept wondering if there was really some sort of hope in their case, if there was actually a _possibility_ to gain all he ever wanted for his life. He felt like melting at that precise moment, both from the balm of her words still apparent inside him and from the nervous expectancy that tingled in his body almost tangibly; he just gave her back a tiny, somewhat tired smile, and kept staring at her in the course of that quite comfortable silence, still unable to bring himself to the point of fighting for what he thought as his rights- he was weak and tired from life…

"I hate these rings…" he suddenly heard Hermione's soft voice breaking the silence between them after some long minutes, as she was throwing yet again another glance at her right hand, although this time it was one of slight fear. Ron bravely enough rested his palm on her shoulder and rubbed the so smooth skin there slowly, most probably calming somewhat both of them with the motion. At the sensation of his ever so quivering palm on her body, Hermione looked up once more, deep into his own, crystal blue eyes, and Ron, observing her careful stare, imagined that she might have been looking for something in the depths of his pupils, a reason, an explanation… something worthy… Then, so unexpectedly, she looked at his body, up and down, till she rested her eyes on his face again.

"I hate your attire," she breathed gently, and Ron wasn't sure what to take from the words or how to feel. "What I mean to say… you look handsome in it, but, the way it hugs your body… it, it completely ruins your aura, your entire self… It's just not you in this suit…"

She hung her head and lowered her eyes in a way full of guilt and shamed modesty, but Ron, at that précised moment, felt so relieved and like none of these trivial sentiments should be apparent at the moment. He felt his lips twisting upwards in the sincerest way existent in the universe, but without wasting another second, he raised her chin up with his fingers, so her shiny, regretful eyes would meet his own, radiant look.

"I hate it wholeheartedly myself, so don't worry about displeasing me," he said to her with that light, almost humorous tone of his while his beam was widening brilliantly. Hermione smiled on impulse as well and the sparkle of her eyes made Ron's heart bigger and more confident. After a few seconds though, like there was some instinctual bond between them, both sets of eyes were once more magnetized by the cold glare of her wedding band on her finger; Ron felt like his heart was a battlefield, where throb and fear were battling cruelly with peace and love, both in hopes of prevailing and conceiving his entire being… He had to step out of this, and if possible at all, unharmed and not alone.

"You should take them off then," he suddenly spoke, answering to her previous words of confession. Hermione peered at his face for a second, trying to figure out what he was saying, but Ron instantly decided to clear this confusion from her face by whispering ever so softly: "Your rings- _forever_…"

Those three words certainly managed to do the necessary explanation to Hermione, but at the sound of them, the woman got slightly paler and her eyes grew wider with a mix of panic and shock. Ron examined that face for a long moment silently, knowing too well that this was coming and quickly inhaled deeply and took a step forward the moment he sensed that Hermione had steeped backwards.

"R-Ron… what are-?"

"You know what _this _means, Hermione, and you know that this is the only right thing," Ron cut her off gently, yet with that new-found, firm decision lacing in his tone. "We confessed our feelings, our _love_, we can't go back there, to all this pretence and lying. We cannot return back to that façade of reality, Hermione, not now…"

"Ron, this is not as easy as it may seem…" Hermione whispered shakily, her eyes shining more and more from the probable wetness that was being produced fast and unwelcomingly; Ron took more steps towards her, so the woman was trapped between a very well polished desk and his tall, rigid form. His eyes burnt as they were constantly staring down at her form- a beauty that should send him to heavens, but it could very well push him down to hell with such easiness… He had to try more, to make her understand…

"No, no, Hermione, it is, it is perfectly simple!" he rushed, his words coming out of hot lips like a torrent, and his hands, restive and clammy, grasped her forearms, so she wouldn't escape from that crucial moment. "We don't want this and we should run out of it! I'm a disgrace of myself for almost a decade and I cannot stand this anymore- and neither can you…"

"Ron, I wish I could- you don't know how much…" Hermione sobbed at the particular last words and let some of those painful droplets get free from her sockets and wash her face with more grief and sadness; Ron's heart clenched more at such an aching sight. "But however much we hate it, these are still our lives, we cannot escape away from those- it's impossible!"

"No, Hermione!" Ron cried put suddenly, actually shocked, but also worried by her weakness and somewhat persistence over such a hateful matter. "It's not impossible! It may be difficult, but _not_ impossible! I-I'm here and together, we can do this! I know that I have nothing to offer you, nothing to lure you so you'll beg me to come along, nothing. No money, nothing grand or spectacular! It's only me, that moody fellow from Ottery St. Catchpole that you know for so long, and the only thing I can give to you is my love, but I'll give it to you whole-heartedly."

The words got out of him without really realizing it, but they were that utter truth that burned inside him for years; that blend of worship, admiration and vast insecurities of his trivial self. As he pronounced them with such zeal and sincerity, he felt his body, as well as his own voice, trembling with both anxiety and raw excitement, all the while his eyes were never leaving out of their sight her face, that lovely face that seemed so perplexed and thoughtful, still dubious about what should be done.

He felt himself slightly dizzy and through all those massive thoughts, wonders and emotions, he wondered for a moment if he was being driven insane.

Hermione starred up at him with those doe eyes of hers, eyes that were filled with an ocean of sentiments quite inexplicable to Ron. Without actually realizing, his breathing quickened a bit and got uneven during those prolonged moments of agonizing waiting and the only reassurance as that little, soft hand that cupped his cheek with such care, as well the distance between them that closed comfortably enough for his tight, fretful heart.

"I don't care about those worthless things, Ron; your love is the only thing I craved for many years, but still… I'm afraid, Ron…" Hermione whispered as her thumb grazed his lips, the motion alone capable to send him to death.

"No, please, don't be afraid," Ron begged her with a shaky breath, "If, If my feelings are enough for you, then let's just forget about that bloody past and start anew, no more lies and insults and masks- just us… please, Hermione…"

"But, what about Mal-?"

"Do you love him, Hermione?" Ron cut her off in an instant, rapidly feeling some sort of rage bubbling up inside his chest. "Do you care at all about him?"

Hermione suddenly looked insulted. "I-I would never feel- I've never cared for him, never!" she spoke loudly, her eyes sparked with flames of fury as she was looking up to him shamelessly. "I hate him like I always did, and his rings… they were only chains to me that imprisoned me to a life I've never desired! They're always icy; they felt familiar neither to my skin nor to my heart!"

Ron's heart stopped for a second, then accelerated its pace like it wanted to escape from those temporary bonds of the body. "Then, why are you having doubts about it? There's nothing there to hold you- it all makes you miserable and captured!" he took another big breath inside him, filling his lungs to the top, so he could be able to continue with calmer spirits and gentler heart. "All I'm saying, Hermione, is that we should act upon our feelings and confessions, we shouldn't keep on feeding all these lies we ourselves created during times of rejection and hurt. We should try again, and with all the honesty inside me, I know that I'd ditch everything to be with you and make this work, this, this bond between us. Ditch that husband of yours if you love me as well, Hermione… l-let's leave together and restart…"

The words were dripping from his lips with all the emotion he had in himself, with everything he had, trivial or vast, nothing hidden from her anymore. Without knowing, his whole body was quivering a bit from the anticipation of her oncoming answer; his pulse was once more wild and audible to him like nothing else…

All his entire self was expecting was a sacred answer out from her angelic lips…

She was staring at him for too many seconds, which transformed to lingering moments without end. His heart was screaming so hopelessly for some sort of release and his stomach was only a so tight knob as he was making out the sudden swift of her eyes, from emotional to expressionless. At that second, Ron only could fear for the worst, and dread was rising again from the depths of his torso like a revived demon, so ready to recapture his soul and body greedily and mercilessly, leaving absolutely no comfort or rest to that wounded existence.

All Ron was hoping for with all his mind was a miracle…

Abruptly, to a point that Ron doubted his visibility, Hermione made a hard movement of her one arm, and her left hand hard caught a hold of her right one, then it let it free and as the left arm was stretching and flying in the air, the palm opened with force. The suddenness of it all let the man no more than confused, but only for a tiny moment, till the metallic sound on the hard floor echoed all over the room. Ron's ears were still ringing from the sound and his eyes, all wide and hopeful to prove that swiftly-growing assumption of the heart, quickly shifted so they could scrutinize her right hand, those small, fair, lovely fingers…

_Those, eventually unchained, free fingers…_

A sound between a sob and a gasp came out of his mouth without realizing or caring, as the enlarged pupils turned now to look at the face of that amazing, lovable woman before him. Her eyes were also staring at him shamelessly, now teary with something lighter and… happier- much more peaceful, to the point of warming his heart to melting. He smiled wild to her own, stunning beam and instantly took those essential steps that brought them once again close, so close actually so no one could tear them apart anymore.

"Whatever future holds, Ron…" Hermione told him with so emotion in her voice that made his eyeballs burn in the behind with the producing of tears, "I'm with you, forever. I love you, Ron, with all my heart, that's all that matters."

"Love; that's all that matters," he agreed with his own whisper, so full of emotion that it almost broke, and feeling all the relief and the warmth and the love to wash him and embrace him like Life itself, he took his Hermione into his arms lovingly, resting his head on hers and sensing her small, smooth hands stroking his curled back with care and he was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, his bliss too much to make any sense, his heart too drunken to decipher everything just yet.

It was all too much, but he adored every millisecond of it all with enhanced senses. He kissed lovingly and she kissed him back without restraint.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

The sound was sudden during the course of the kiss, and made the couple break apart slowly, turning their heads towards the source of the sound. And just as unexpectedly, the sight was one of downright panic, as both Ron and Hermione instantly felt their blood and bodies freeze to the spot, wide sets of eyes still looking at the approaching image…

"Well, well, well, if it isn't to the lovely couple making all the sappy stuff…!" they heard a cold, sarcastic voice fill the air of the room as well as the still apparent clapping from the man's hands. "You're just so amusing to watch, all melodramatic and such… Frankly, I wasn't sure how long I would be able to hold my laughter!"

Those sardonic words, spoken by the mouth of Draco Malfoy, did nothing more than enrage Ron to the top. The redheaded man glared to the blonde with pure hatred filling his insides and he as well, took a step closer to the other man, mostly ignoring that trembling hand that was resting on top of his tensed forearm.

"Fuck off, you shitty bastard!" Ron yelled without much of a thought, without actual caring about properness or guilt; and why should there be any hint of guilt? Was love supposed to be a sentiment of shame? The man felt the woman's hand squeezing his arm soothingly, in miserable hopes of calming him.

Malfoy, to Ron's utter irritation, threw at them another bitchy laugh. "_Fuck off? _That's a great improvement, Mr. Weasley! I wonder what that wonderful wife of mine finds so attractive in you to let you fuck her so thoroughly!"

"SHUT UP!" Ron growled loudly to him, as his blood was boiling hot inside his pulsing veins, and he felt it going fast towards his head. "Don't speak like that to her!"

"How long are you here?" Hermione's voice was audible all of a sudden, all fearful and tiny, as she was looking at her husband. The man threw her a look full of disgust and pity as he eventually answered to her:

"I'm here just long enough to hear that bullshit you were saying to each other like stupid teens and see you redressing… It wasn't difficult to realize that you were just out of an _amazing_ round of steamy shagging! I just find it so repulsive _where_ you decided to shag your brains out… _My office, from all the places?_"

His words, once again, managed successfully to bring big amounts of downright shock to both Ron and Hermione, but eventually, realization dawned on them, along with a somewhat heavy feeling of uneasiness; Hermione, even during those breathtaking moments of passion shared between them, was able _to know_ that a comfortable couch was resting on the other side of the room, like she was familiar to it… It all made sense now.

Ron made a step towards the other, hateful man before him, making sure along the way that his posture was protecting Hermione, who was currently standing slightly behind him. "And what's it to you, Malfoy? Hadn't you had enough of fun as it is?" he whispered with poison dripping from his lips in huge amounts, like it was supposed to be; his heart was screaming with a blend of unnamed emotions.

Malfoy chuckled at that. "Enough? I'd never have enough of this little drama between that pitying pair of yours," he exclaimed sarcastically and took some steps closer them, his steely cold eyes shifting between Ron and Hermione easily. "From the very beginning I loved this little game and I was wondering when one of the two would eventually bend down and do something stupid… But as it seems, both bended at the sights of each other!"

He laughed heartily, in that cold, hideous tone that made Ron's blood boil and freeze at the very same time. His words, however, were also confusing and alarming, and without realizing, his eyebrows came closer to each other, letting only a little, temporary wrinkle to separate them.

"What are you on about?" he asked quickly.

"I'm not stupid like you, Weasley; I knew from the very first moments that Granger didn't come to me because she had feelings for me… I knew it was something else, something that most probably had to do with you," Draco Malfoy started his talking in a pompous way, and his posture, if possible, got even more straight and snobbish. "At first I thought about just swearing at her, probably hexing her for the heck of it and make my departure. But after better judgment and consideration, I thought that I should play along with her and pretend to be interested; I shouldn't let that big opportunity get wasted, am I right, weasel?"

Ron growled furiously, too eager to attack physically to the bastard before him and tear him apart, till no one could realize that the few pieces on the floor was, some time ago, a man. He felt Hermione's both trembling hands on his forearm, squeezing it and keeping him there, right next to her.

Malfoy kept going, in his eyes a sickeningly amused gleam that Ron didn't like at all. "I knew that getting together with Granger would make too much good for my entertainment; it would piss you off like nothing else, as it comes that you _love _her so much- I was sure that you'd kill yourself, but the outcome was nearly as good… As for what I call a wife… well, I am glad to know that I made her do things she was sick for, that I made her miserable and eventually got to break her. At first I wasn't really sure, to be honest… marrying a filthy mudblood…"

If Ron had somehow managed, during those long minutes, to keep himself irresponsive and still towards that excuse of a wizard, the hearing of such hurtful words towards the one woman he ever loved made him angry to the point of insanity. He felt his heart and veins pulsating heatedly, something inside his torso snapping and growling with fury that any man had probably never faced before. Feeling also the pang of his heart at the sound of Hermione's gasp, Ron knew that nothing should stop him, that nothing _could_ stop him right now from letting out all the rage he was keeping inside for all this long, agonizing years.

"YOU LITTLE, POMPOUS PRICK!" he yelled with all the air inside his burning lungs, as he ran to him and made him clenched fist contact strongly with the bastard's jaw, the echo of the impact's sound made his soul fill with some kind of cruel satisfaction that still wasn't enough to him. "YOU BASTARD, I HOPE YOU'LL ROT IN HELL FOREVER!"

Every hard punch was underlined with the venom Ron as spiting in the form of angry words. Eventually, Ron threw Malfoy down on the floor, and without letting that pile of bullshit to even take a breath, he straddled him and resumed his beating, with every hit, the redheaded man felt more fulfilled, yet much more thirsty for that sort of tangible revenge. He knew too well that he'd never be able to stop till he'd kill the blond man, like it was deserved to be. Sores were open in both Malfoy and his own skin, blood was steadily pouring out from them, but the physical pain never reached his spirits, as fury was too hot inside him, as the ancient pain inside his torso was eventually able to set loose and get out of his system in the most desirable way.

And Ron hit more and more the man below him, having no mercy inside him, as he knew that _he _felt no mercy in him while he was thinking of destroying their lives to almost inexistence.

"Ron…" he suddenly heard that soft and shaky voice from somewhere behind him, and he momentarily looked around, from above his shoulder, so he could see a tearful Hermione standing weakly some steps away, looking at the scene before her with what was surely fear. "P-Please, stop this… He doesn't worth anything, not, not even your wrath…"

Her words confused Ron greatly. "Hermione, he destroyed our lives; how can you be so magnanimous? _He _deserves _this_!"

Hermione took a deep breath and approached them, throwing a pitiful, poisonous look at her husband before facing Ron with much gentler and pleading eyes. "I know he does, but you _don't_. You shouldn't throw yourself to his low level… you're better than that…"

"But, But you heard him, Hermione—"

"I heard him," Hermione cut him off instantly, putting her small palm on his forearm, the contact managing to calm his tight knots of nerves in an instant. "But I don't care about his sayings, as I never did. He cannot do anything more to me, not now… Let's just ignore his foulness and move on- that's all I want, Ron, to move on with you…"

Her words, her so kind, smooth words, had an immediate effect of his mending heart, and without really realizing, he stood up from his kneeling position, and neared Hermione like she was Life itself, a thing that was actually a truth for him. Despite some soreness on his knuckles, he took her tiny, beautiful hands in his own, bloody ones and kissed with so much sincerity and care her own knuckles, desiring so much to show her how much he loved her and _respected her_. Hermione smiled up to him with her full lips and shiny eyes, and Ron understood the meaning of her so grand words.

Malfoy wasn't worth of any sentiment from their part, not even one of heartfelt fury and hatred.

"That's the problem with you, Weasley; you were always letting yourself be ruled by unworthy people- especially _that mudblood_…"

The words came out of nowhere, to the point of outright shock and complete inability of response.

Draco Malfoy was standing there, all beaten up, but with that shitty smirk still apparent on his face, and with a wand tightly held on his fist, pointed clearly towards the redheaded man.

"NO!"

That scream of Hermione's wasn't able to cover that little word that slipped from Malfoy's lips, nor was it able to unfreeze Ron from that millisecond of utter surprise…

"_Crucio!"_

A scream much louder and worse that Hermione's was audible at that precise moment, as the powerful, red light hit full-force his chest and threw him down. Ron hadn't felt this kind of physical ache before, as he felt countless little knives and needles piercing forcefully inside his skin, torturing somehow every little cell of his body, to the point where his brain cells were screaming for death to take over, to the point where his heart was literally burning, to the point where his lungs were pushing hard out of him every little drop of air, so he'd be led, if fortunate enough, to a quick, inglorious decease.

The torture stopped after some unknown time for Ron, as he fell limply on the floor, with muscles too hard and aching, with face wet from tears the man never realized he had shed, with too numb brain to decipher much, with burning torso that was moving harshly up and down, in order to fill with a satisfying portion, his demanding, half-dead lungs.

The only thing Ron could comprehend despite his chaotic, messy state, was the blurry image of Hermione, along with her noisy, heartbreaking sobs she was letting out, sobs full of pleading towards the sinner to stop his inhuman acts.

Yet the offender never obeyed…

"_Crucio!"_

The yell this time was harsher, and Ron was more than ready to handle, somehow, the pain of such an inevitable contact- yet, it never came…

With too much surprise and panic, Ron saw Hermione making a sudden move towards him, like her whole body was in a shock of spasms, and she fell in front of him before the curse was able to reach his body; thus, with a too agonizing stab in the heart, Ron made out the red fountain of light hitting her powerfully, straight to the chest, to the place where her heart was.

Her heart…

Her heart…

_Her heart…_

_No, no, not her heart…_

Her shriek was harsh and heartbreaking, to the point that Ron was once more crying out with begging tightly hooked on his words. Tears were constantly leaking out from his burning eyes, the sight too hard for his wounded-by-any-means self. He managed somehow to kneel from his lying state, his eyes still wide and glued on that hurtful scene before him, to the tortured soulmate of his that was writhing on the floor unbearably, her screams hitting his eardrums so cruelly that Ron wanted to rip them apart manically, so he couldn't hear such a desperate, hateful sound again.

"STOP IT! P-PLEASE, STOP IT!" Ron sobbed with all his might to the man before him, all the while reaching Hermione with aching muscles that little mattered to him now; all that mattered was her, her life, her well-being, everything of hers was precious, she should be alright, alright… if she wasn't- no, he couldn't think of it, he had to save her, but…

His heart was beating too hard with the agony and the pain and with everything else repulsive and harmful stabbing it mercilessly. His mind and conscience were poisoned with roaring dread that was sprouting wildly inside him and was burning his entire being; he couldn't stand it anymore, it was too much, if something happened to her, he—

Somehow, her torture was stopped, the curse was lifted, and she fell limply on the floor, with breaths that were too shallow and uneven to be considered healthy, with sweat and paleness and pain too tightly wrapped on her face to comfort Ron at all. In the distance, the man heard too many voices, angry yells, charms casted by too many wands and echo of metal somethings clicking… Ron didn't care, why should he? Still letting his tears burning his face like acid, he leaned down to her body, catching her with trembling hands carefully, letting her head rest on his collarbone and the rest of the shaky, tensed body be embraced by his own, sore form gently, like it should always be, but never like this. Sobbing unstoppably, Ron put his horribly shuddering palms on her deadly chalky cheeks, so she would be facing him, so he could finally find that reassurance, that so needed gleam of hope that she was alright, and she would make and they would be, at long last, all right.

"Her-Hermione… please…" he only managed to choke out desperately, his eyes dark , despaired, yet still hopeful for another miracle to happen…

Her eyes eventually looked up, straight into his, as her lips were still wide open and trying to force in some precious air. "Al-Always… k-k-keep in… in mi-mind, Ron… I… I… I l-love you…"

"No, Hermione, p-please, I l-love you, too, d-don't do this… don't give up, love, n-not now…" he choked out frantically, more tears streaming from his eyes as they were trying so greatly to keep contact with hers; a vital contact that should never be broken… not now that it was finally found…

"Please… don't give up…"

"_I love you, Ron…" _

That was her final gasp, as her weight fell lifelessly on him and her eyes got blinded forever.

…

_Two years later_

In the flat there was a sure cast of heavy, permanent shadows, like they always should be… why shouldn't they?

Only some remnants of millions-of-times restocked fire made that tiny, wrecked living room spark, not with life, but with hellish hotness and burn, with golden red light that only resembled ache and isolation, nothing more.

And the day… why the day should make any difference?

Was there anything that mattered? Anything else despite the pain and the loss?

_**And I'll hide from the world**_

_**Behind a broken frame**_

A tight ball of something barely alive suddenly moved in the stillness of the dirty, dimly lit room. Around the motion, loud clasps of empty, glass bottles that lost balance and rolled on the wooden floor were audible, but barely deciphered by that creature on the floor, who suddenly looked up with heavy-lidded eyes full of darkness and black rings under them, with grimy face and some auburn beard that could fool anyone that the owner of it had already lived long years of life…

On the contrary, he had lived… no, that wasn't right…

He hadn't lived at all. Life was not supposed to be like this.

The man tried to stand up with too weak, too thin legs, but the bones and the muscles protested loudly, so the pile of them that should be considered as body fell back to the floor and remained there for time unknown. With blind motions, as the man was lying there, he tried with limp fingers to find that half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey he knew was there; he now needed that strong alcohol more than breath itself.

All for these scanty loose pieces of somewhat calm…

When eventually successful with his movements, he tightly grasped the slim neck of the bottled and, without hesitation, brought the open end to his dry lips, already gulping hard mouthfuls of the too strong liquid. The substance instantly brought that burning, unbearable sensation to the back of his throat, as well as to the back of his tired eyes, that unconsciously, started once more to produce too many amounts of that salty, bitter fluid that neither soothed him, nor got him upset; it was just there, all the time, a numb, unconscious procedure of his still-functioning system that somehow was still able to take place.

After some more mouthfuls of the liquid fire, the creature, once known as Ron Weasley, opened a bit more his eyes, only to look around the room with some much despair that was literally dripping from them like poison. He took a glimpse of the untidy environment, of the somewhat warm essence of the fire that soothed him none, of the too many cards and gifts that, somehow, had managed to enter his sealed home like virus.

The some sort of attention those objects implied only panicked the man and made him shed even more droplets of fluid misery down to his skeleton-like face.

It was the first of March, the thirty-second he had lived to experience so far, and many had remembered him, sending him something to show their care, their whatever…

He didn't care, he didn't mind it one bit… _She _wasn't there.

_His life _wasn't there.

_I need a bloody cigarette… _

His breathing got uneven and shallow all of a sudden, just during that endless process of recollecting those inadequate pieces of memory from his ruined mind; the too bright image that probed painfully his entire being like always, got him temporarily blind and hurt, much, much more than usual. It poked his flesh and soul like an unimportant piece of dirty parchment, a worthless nothing that needed to be out of that world…

Those were his constant feelings nowadays, and a meaningless event such as his own birthday wouldn't actually erase the misery from every cell and every pore of his being.

"A-A cig… I n-n-need a cig…" he spoke to himself with his too hoarse croaks and he abandoned his bottle of liquor only to search frantically around for that packet of cigarettes and his mostly forgotten wand- why would anyone need a wand in hell?

He eventually found them and with trembling, yet eager fingers, he took from the small, wrecked packet one soft stick and put it onto his chapped, half-open lips; then, he quickly grabbed his wand and lit the end of the cigarette, so puffs of grey, poisonous smoke would pollute the air and his lungs simultaneously, in a procedure that gradually managed to put those hateful amounts of stress, heavy weariness and dread into some sort of necessary-for-his-spirits hibernation.

Breathing was now a much painless route, and as Ron felt his lungs burning with the heaviness of the acidic substance, he let his groggy, puffy eyes close, his eyelids dropping like they weighted tons during this time of bereavement and defeat.

Ron started his smoking habit not long after… after _that day_. Must have been some months later that he eventually discovered properly that toxic painkiller invented by Muggles. Of course he was aware of something called 'cigarette' before that, he had a fair idea of what smoking was to the Muggle world, but he never got further than that- well, not until he _knew_ that something else could, even for some ruined minutes, protect him from his own ache and delay the surely-and-fast-coming insanity of his.

The first time he inhaled some of this overwhelming smoke, the second its heaviness touched for the very first time his lungs and nostrils, he felt physically awful; his eyes watered some more than usual, his throat and chest burned like hell itself and dried from all of their vital moisture; his head turned foggier and dizzier than usual, almost to the point of oblivion, all the while his empty stomach churned awfully with disgust and discomfort.

Yet, somehow miraculously, his heart seemed a bit soothed, calmer, beating in a slower pace that didn't upset the man's entire being with panic and grief; it was like he was suddenly pulled out of his carcass of a body to the utter space, where nothing existed, no ache or anything else harmful and poisonous; at least, not to that gigantic extent.

So, that was mostly the reason he did it; he did it so he would calm himself somewhat, so he'd lull his soul into a quite bearable forgetfulness, even though there was nothing to calm or lull inside him; there was not one hint of soul inside him, nothing but ache and downright chill; nothing to tame, in a way, or conquer… simply nothing.

With more and more slow, so deep drags of smoke inside him, Ron felt, if at all possible, at an anesthetizing state, where the body and the soul were tingling somewhat from the apparent numbness, a real comma that let the being not rest, but somehow be accepted by the harshness of an intolerable reality of its.

Then, the remembering unrolled inevitably…

It had been two years, two excruciating, too lonely and painful years of life. If Ron had thought that those eight years without the presence of _his Hermione_ were a constant torture of the spirits, then he couldn't really express with weak, insufficient words the state he was currently experiencing. He felt like someone had dared, cruelly and mercilessly, to take all of his skin from his body, so he'd remain all bare, ached, bloody and defenseless to face a so ruthless world that cared none for his vast pain, sorrow and weakness.

He remembered that day so clearly, to the point where he was wishing that the force and the acid of the memory would burn his eyes eternally into blindness, thus he wouldn't be able to see any of that tangled chaos anymore. However, his wishes were never fulfilled, and he was honoured to recall every tiny, agonizing millisecond of that night's ache with the clarity of the entire universe.

He had cried too much, with lachrymal glands already swollen and too eager to produce a wondrous amount of salty, so bitter tears that burnt his too pale face like acid. But tears didn't matter at all, _he_ didn't, as in his arms was resting the lifeless body of his long lost soulmate, the one that never really had the chance to cherish his entire being with the love, the gentleness, the purity and the beauty that were springing from her so effortlessly and amazingly.

And he had lost it, just that moment he was blissful enough to shout to the world that he had eventually gained it.

That sick bastard was caught immediately, as the shouts and the screams had alarmed Aurors and other people apparent and guided them quickly enough to capture the sickening sinner before he had any chance to escape. Ron, some days later, when he had a tad clearer mind to grasp the whole situation, demanded the bastard's death wholeheartedly, screaming that it was the only fair punishment for what he had done… Its sorrowful demands were never met with fulfillment and his soul wasn't able to find even one little place of resting- it only burnt more with the injustice of the unrolling situation that yet refused to seem like the new reality of his.

The first year was like hell had somehow managed to come and stay on the surface of planet Earth; Ron would never manage to find somehow, somewhere the rest his entire self so much needed. Nightmares hunted his dreams like the plague hunted the healthy body; his awakening hours were being hunted by that inescapable reality from which he never managed to break loose. It was all a vicious circle of pain and mourning, thus he tried to find some sort of inadequate easiness in too demanding things: work, alcohol and cigarettes.

His work as an Auror was a little relief in his darkening life. Being expected to give his entire attention and focus to the hard tasks of each day, either that was an undercover mission or a desk stuck with towers of paperwork, Ron always did his very best to push aside every little hint of heartbreak and simply be that efficient Auror he was supposed- and wanted- to be. And honestly, at first his attempts were not fruitless, his mind, somewhat surprisingly, was managing to clear that heavy fog around and give him some space to function with the precision and the carefulness his risky occupation needed. But, unfortunately, those effects were sadly short-lived.

Even though Ron was somewhat relieved that, at least, his job seemed quite untouched by the blow fate had struck him with, soon he realized- or better, _felt_- that this was not really his case. Ever so slowly, as the weeks at work unrolled and were passed, the redheaded man comprehended suddenly, like an epiphany, how his work didn't brush off the pain, in sad actuality, but it really _enhanced _it, as the flashes of all his cases and missions were constantly poisoning his still open sores and fed his ache with more and more stabs to the soul. Every time his wide, crystal blue eyes were set on a victim, their form was swiftly blurred by his fast producing tears and the darkness of his mind, only to be disguised into another unconscious body, one with spread, wild curls in the colour of the chestnut, with wide, glassy, chocolate brown eyes that agonizingly lost their angelic spark and with that nauseating paleness that only suited to the dead…

And then, Ron would always react insanely, in the course of, almost unconsciously, reliving the torture of that night; he would cry and sob, remain irresponsive to the stimuli of the rest of the world, probably run to that body and caress it with all the love of the universe existent, oblivious that the hair wasn't wildly curly, or that the eyelids he was kissing with such painful adoration and respect were not hiding beneath orbs of so known brown…

However, the worst, sadly, would come at another time, when the culprit would be caught at the place of the sin. Then, Ron's heart would start burning with all the fury of the Earth and Hell altogether, as the offender's characteristics would hastily melt under his angry eyes to a pale, cold and arrogant face with blond hair and steely icy eyes. His instincts then would be awakened with full force and the man would react through his hallucination more frantically than before; with strength hotly apparent inside him, he'd ran to whoever man was caught at the time, and he'd beat him with everything inside, in his eyes and mind all visible was the hateful face of Draco Malfoy… Were not few the times that some of his colleagues had to strain somewhat him and his panicking ferocity before he'd be able to kill each culprit with only bare hands.

That was being bear for, more or less, a year, before Ron eventually realized that work did so very little to take his mind away from the excruciating pain he was feeling every second of his life; the cruelty of the occupation he had chosen years ago managed now only to fed him with ache, burning acid and insanity, and he'd be so much better if he was left all alone, in the abyss of his own darkness, hurt and desolation, where no one could ever harm him despite himself- it was strangely sufferable.

So the oncoming quitting wasn't as heartbreaking as it would normally be, under _normal_ conditions; it was actually a bit of a breather for him, before his lungs were suppressed by the weight of his vast hurting to the point of choked breathing once more.

Without really deciphering it, at the present time, his breathing process became once more, another living torture, as his too worn, yet sharp, thoughts and memories formed into a huge lump in his throat, where his already unwilling inhales and exhales were seeing difficulties in passing. The man choked some before eventually managing to suck a mouthful of air with more persistence, not due to his own keenness, but mostly because of alarmed, survival instincts that somehow had managed to stay alive inside him. That action cleared his mind only a tad bit, and Ron finally looked down, in between unrecognizable, skeletal fingers his dying cig, so he let it fall ingloriously to the floor, joining the rest of its remnants. With blank eyes, Ron stared at the sight, quite mesmerized by the way the ashes and the half-burnt filter were lying all together on that little piece of the wooden floor, strangely containing an odd unity of something… well, he really couldn't put it into words, but the fall, the disorder and the misery of it all made Ron attached to that little, insignificant seeing; it was absurd, yet so peculiarly comforting.

A sudden crack made Ron snap out from his bizarre essence of deliberation, and his too wide, too swollen eyes instantly fell into the fireplace, specifically at the fire that, out of the blue, had sparked back into life and pride, like it desired a few moments of outstanding glory before its perpetual decease. Ron was even more startled at the unexpected sight, to the point that he forgot anything else, and sat there still, with too eager eyes and a held breath, staring at the swaying of those golden, daring curves with utter awe and mesmerism. The abrupt spark, the actual _life_ of it, amazed him greatly and did something to his heart that was truly… soothing. For the first time Ron could remember, it wasn't burning… it was _warm_.

With a sudden surge of energy in every cell of his body that the man hadn't experienced in a very long time, Ron leapt up to his feet without the body-protesting, without the heaviness of the heart or the soreness of the spirits apparent; wondrously so, they were all forgotten, as the shine of the fire was mirrored on his eyes. He approached the fire with tentative steps, as his entire self was still enthralled by the charm of the fiery element, to the point that nothing else existed, but that glorious fire. Like a dizzy moth, he took all the necessary steps to eventually reach that wonderful glow, that spring of light and life and stood before it with a humble posture and still too wide, obsessed eyes that kept their stare at it. After some long moments keeping such close attention to it, Ron unconsciously kneeled down on the floor, right in front of the fireplace, from where he could see more closely the radiance of the gold and the red, from where he could feel reassuringly the balm of the air previously mated with that blazing company. He sighed and leaned slightly closer, so his cold face could feel more the comforting heat, so his heart would continue beating so relaxed inside his chest, so he'd be lulled into the peace of the universe.

And at that precise moment, when he was ready to close his eyes into a serene slumber, he saw it, barely taking a glimpse of it:

A pair of enchanting, sparking, chocolate brown eyes.

His eyes, with extreme speed, flew wide open once again, in fear only of losing in any way that sight that his entire self was absolutely sure of witnessing. And indeed, it was there, right in front of him, that hardly forgotten pair of eyes, looking back at him with the pure shine that once he had thought it was forever lost. He never realized his own gasp, neither had he minded it, as his entire attention was captured willingly by the sight only; the dark pupils, despite the paradox of the situation, and breaking all the laws of science known to man, enlarged significantly, keen on absorbing every little something that had to do with those eyes… and… and with that a-angelic face surrounding them…

_Oh, my…_

It was there, her face, alive and breathing and smiling and looking surely at him with lively orbs that made his own breathing uneven with the excitement that was flowing shamelessly and speedily to his energetic veins; his heart was chirping with pleasure and warmth and his lungs suddenly felt so very eager to face once again their duties without much of a complaint… It was bizarre, really it was, but the sight of hers before him made the peculiarity of the situation to fade into the balm and the serenity the whole air around him swiftly gained and adopted. He was in the enormity of the universe again, but this time, it wasn't triviality what he felt inside and out, all over him- it was the lightness, the tranquility and the warmth.

No more burning or ache; just light, balm and love.

His heart beat faster with the bliss emerging abundantly inside him.

He was alive.

"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…"

She was there, with him- she eventually came… _Oh, Hermione…_

She smiled brighter up to him, her eyes glistening like suns, her lips as pink and luscious as he remembered them… every tiny detail so flawless and entirely pure…

And he wanted- oh, how much he wanted!- to… to touch, touch every little detail of her, every unblemished characteristic that glowed like harmless fire, like all of the heavens had come and rested on her face gracefully, beautifully…

"_Ron…"_

That was it; her voice. Her soft, gentle, feathery voice, whispering his name with such care, with love and beauty, that his breath was caught in his throat, while his eardrums were still quivering with the echoes of that so kind sound he craved to hear again- it was magical, almost insane…

"_Oh, Ron… come to me…"_

"_Yes,"_ he whispered back unconsciously, his eyes widening more in hopes of losing not one little thing her sight had to offer to his thirsty soul. His entire body was pulsating madly with the anticipation of once again gain what he had thought it was long lost; but he was wrong, as she was there, right in front of him, making him complete and asking him to near her again, to go to her, to _touch _and _love _her.

How much he yearned for a touch of her skin, of her hair…

"_I love you, Ron."_

And that was it; his heart was drunk and blissful and his fingertips were itching because of that hunger to feel her silky skin. With those too wide eyes that never dared to blink or lose her from their sight, he let, during that hypnotizing state, his hand to approach ever so slowly towards her radiant face, his fingers stretched and shaky as they were nearing her warmth and smoothness, as they were just about to make contact with the treasures of the entire space…

His heart stopped.

His breath hitched.

His veins throbbed with both excitement and impatience.

His mind paused.

_And…_

_**And I'll burn forever**_

_**I can't face the shame**_

A terrible scream was so very audible at that moment, as a foul smell of burnt skin and flesh polluted the air agonizingly, surrounding the place with an aura that certainly smothered the lightness and the serenity of the little, precious moments before. Ron instantly took his hands out of the cracking fire and fearfully backed away from it, dragging desperately his body away from the harmful element like it was Death himself. His eyes, glassy, trembling and scared, observed the flames with almost crazed fear, as his left hand was holding carefully the right one, where the flesh had an angry red tint now, where the blood was pulsating visibly with pain, as the burning was still apparent, causing the pain to come back and prevail all over him forcefully.

_The burning…_

He could feel it again now, fully, in every little point of his psychosomatic unity. That was the real him now, the reality shown it, the _earth _shown it. He could feel the surges of the ache and the grief all over him, battling in his chest and crushing his heart along the way, leaving only pain, blood and burning for his destroyed self.

She was not there; he was only too desperate to savour her with his entire being that the slight sooth the re-awakened fire provided him for a moment made him crazier to the point of having delusions of wondrous things, yet still unreachable.

He realized, with all the hurt of the body and the soul, that she was really unreachable, too far away from his fingers to seize even a bit of her long-lost presence.

And he was nothing, a crumble of soreness and loss, a burnt, dirty piece of flesh that didn't worth its place to planet Earth; not when she was dead and gone, leaving him all alone and bare, so incomplete.

The flames of hell grazed his body and his insides mercilessly, selfishly, trying to devour any little, ruined specks of hope and well-being had dared to survive in him for so long. Ron's breaths morphed quickly into noisy wheezes and what remained of his heart started to pound hard, each beating a torture to his spirits and to his entire body. His mind sank in mud of bereavement and in fire of defeat and incompletion, as that gaping hole in his chest grew larger and larger, more and more painful, just like a black hole in the outer space; it absorbed everything, gulping down every light, hope or bliss from him that only darkness remained in there, and those insufferable amounts of ache along with it. It was all too much, the hurt and the imperfection and the agonizing burning that drove Ron even more insane and sick, as his unharmed palm grasped with every remaining power within that part of the torso that hurt the most, that dying little spot that completely realized just at that moment, with touch of skin with fire, how insufficient and unimportant it was with that other part of the soul leaving it eternally behind, all alone and wretched. For reason unknown, the lack of her sweetness hurt him more now, much more than that period of those fucking eight years of stubbornness and bitterness, or even much more than any moment of those last two years, when Hell was his current hometown.

Yet, through all this amount of excruciating ache, everything made sense to the hurting man, every little thing came to place, as the echoes of her imaginary words and the phantoms of her illusionary image were still lingering inside him, plain and simple, without feeding the pain or soothing it. It was just there, resting above and inside him, and the epiphany came to Ron at that precise moment.

It was all there…

"_Oh, Ron… come to me…"_

With tears leaking unexpectedly from the outer corners of his eyes, Ron closed his eyelids tightly, seeking inside him all those things required for his one last act. He found them quickly, too quickly, but the fact made him more reassured and eager for what was about to follow. He knew that this was the only possible escape from the torture and the burning, he knew that his only chance lay right there, and if he really needed to feel that tranquility and warmth and love again, he had to do this and this only- there was no other option. It was either the soothing or the torture; it was either the eternal presence of Hermione or the eternal burning.

Even through his insanity, he was able to make the right decision to his mind.

It was all there, lying and waiting for him to seize and gain…

And so did he.

Feeling the shoots of pain all over his hand, that agonizing burning, he knew that this was right; he knew how much he longed to escape from that hellish burning. He tightened his grip on his wand, ignoring wholeheartedly the ache of his burnt skin and flesh, and his azure eyes glistened momentarily at the wondrous sight of it, at the thought of how grand its last act would be.

And with a whispered prayer for forgiveness to God and acceptance from a brunette angel, he pointed his wand to his impatient heart and breathed his last two words…

…

The knocks on the door were becoming louder and louder, as well as the yells and the pleas of the two people behind it for the inhabitant to open it.

A response never came, as mostly expected, so, without further waiting, a spell was said, and the door blasted open until it hit the wall behind loudly.

The two people, a black-haired man with a scar, known as Harry Potter, and his red-haired wife, known as Ginny Potter, entered the house immediately, too eager to face their dearest friend and brother after so long. Many excuses had been said during the last weeks, almost entirely by _his_ side, but the couple couldn't have more of it anymore; in the day of his birthday they both felt that Ron really shouldn't be left all alone, facing another day with hellish manners and obvious lack of enthusiasm to things as unimportant as living.

"Ron?" Harry asked tentatively, craning his neck so he could take a better look around the almost dark hall and nearest room. Ginny huffed and pushed him aside, already making her way towards the living room.

"Where in the bloody hell, are you, Ronald Weasley?" she almost cried out in barely constrained anger over her brother's lack of response. Harry was about to tell her to calm down and be more reasonable and calm towards her still hurt brother, but as he was still taking slow steps towards the living room, he heard his wife's heart-stopping scream and he worriedly rushed into the room…

The sight was surely one to make hearts stop.

Ginny was kneeling down on the floor, not that far away from the threshold where Harry was standing. She was weeping and sobbing, half her palm in her mouth as she was staring at the most painful sight.

That shattered, red-haired man, formerly known as Ron Weasley, spread and still on the floor some meters away, with a calm essence on his tear-stained and lifeless face, with his right hand half-open and his wand rolled only a few millimeters away from it.

And as their hearts were shattering and their eyes were drowning with tears, all they could see was the angry burning marks all over his skeletal, frozen fingers…

~#~

* * *

><p><em>- I know, it's really sad, and depressing, but at some points of life, I can only think of dark ways to express; yet, I loved the journey while I was writing this, despite the exhaustion along the way, and I really hope that you all also found this first oneshot worthy or something. More to come of course, in time, but not really sure as of when, 'cause each oneshot comes out to be quite lengthy and lacking the right amount of details I want to put into- but it'll certainly come. <em>

_-Moreover, I'd like to apologise for any sort of mistakes- after reaching the middle of it, I really got tired of keep proofreading, so... sorry! _

_-And mostly, I'd like to ask for that tiny favour all authors ask; reviews are love, as some quote, and I really do not think that this is wrong... I'd be extremely pleased to see some worthy__** feedback**__ by you all, saying your opinion, suggestion, or show your criticism sensibly... _

_-More to come later... Till then, be happy, creative and, well, see you later! :)_


	2. Eurasia

**Author's Note:** Hello there everyone! I know it's been so long- almost a year!- but here it is! My life was really hectic all these previous months, and even though this one was almost finished for months now, I couldn't really find the strength to complete it... but it's finished now and ready to be read! Too much different from the previous one, this one is kind of fluffy and humorous, set after the final chapter of Deathly Hallows.

**Quite important note:** When I first published this story, it was under the 'Romance/General' genres, thus some reviewers, due to the contents of "I'll Burn Forever", expressed some sort of complaints, especially that really saddening one that accused me for 'baiting' or something. So, I want to say some things and clear it out; in any way, I did not try to 'trick' people into reading my story by putting it under the Romance genre. I made this choice having in mind that the whole bunch of one-shots intended to be published under this title, will have as their common factor the love between Ron and Hermione; some of them may express it differently than others, or less than others, by, according to my opinion, it is always there. I know that "I'll Burn Forever" is a very dark and angsty fic and focused very much on Ron and Hermione's inner torture and troubles, but, in the end, the love is existent, thus and all the struggling apparent. So, I guess that I should express an apology to all of you that thought that this is my way of 'gaining' some more views- I guess that people that may have read other works of mine know that I'm not this kind of person at all. So, from now on, because it is quite difficult to put a variety of different one-shots under a common genre despite the aforementioned one, I decided on **changing the genre every time I upload a new one-shot, and the genre will refer on the particular, new one-shot. Each one-shot, however, will have its own rating and genres mentioned in the beginning. **

**Warnings:** Well, there aren't any particular warnings for this one-shot, except that it may break the 'rules' of this album; it isn't an AU, it's set at some point of Ron and Hermione's life after the Deathly Hallows- but not after the epilogue! It's not ridiculously long, it's kind of fluffy and on the humorous side, and... that's all I can think of...

So, I'll just let you read now... Enjoy! :)

_**"Eurasia"; Rated T; a Ron/Hermione fic of Humor, Fluffiness and Romance.**_

_**Inspired by Muse's song, "United States of Eurasia". **_

The atmosphere in the flat was one of relaxation and slow-paced routine that didn't really bother the inhabitants, but, on the contrary, made them fall more into that peaceful state of body and mind. As the radio was filling the fresh, spring air with light, pleasant to the ear sounds, one of them was moving around the house constantly, each time she was changing a direction, a different item was filling her hands; in the kitchen, the other one, a male much bigger than the tiny, brunette woman moving around, was drying off the last, freshly washed plates, then putting them in the appropriate cupboard. As he was pushing the last plate in the cupboard, he exhaled a carefree whistle, all the while still hearing carefully the sayings of that cute, little brunette his heart still skipped beats for.

"… and then, after leaving the Ministry, Ginny thought that it would be a good idea if we got to London- you know, Muggle side of London- so we could have some lunch- you know, she simply adored that Italian restaurant we all went at the other day, and she had this craving for pasta with white sauce and anchovies- God bless her and her baby…"

Ron Weasley laughed at that as he shook his head, still not able to believe what sort of weird moods and ever weirder cravings pregnant women seemed to have- especially a quite mental witch, like his sister. He dried his hands off and looked from above his shoulder towards the living room, where his hyperactive wife seemed to be at the particular moment.

"And then what? Don't tell me that the chef actually managed to make a dish like that just for my sister's outrageously extraordinary wishes!"

Hermione Weasley turned around in an instant, looking directly into her husband's blue, blue eyes with a mirthful smile in her pretty face. "Oh, you bet he did! Can you imagine just what would have happened if they had refused to meet her wishes? Oh, I'm pretty sure you would have heard her all the way to the Ministry, Ron!" she said humorously and both laughed slightly hard at that.

"So, why did you arrive here so late last night? I don't think that a very pregnant and starving Ginny would have preferred to prolong a process like eating to the maximum possible," Ron then asked curiously, the tone of almost-never-absent humor lacing handsomely with the natural depth of his voice. Hermione was about to reply to him, but her ear caught a very soft and beautiful sound steaming from the radio, gentle notes that were steadily growing louder and louder, but certainly not harsher; it reminded her something, it sounded so very familiar, triggering alive memories from as far as childhood, but strangely enough, newer ones as well, from the last couple of months or so…

And then, it clicked.

"Chopin!"

"Shopping?" Ron's voice came loudly from the kitchen, confusion tainting the word heavily. "I didn't see you carrying any bags with you when coming here…"

"No, no, no; it's Chopin, on the radio… Nocturne; Op. 9, No. 2… Actually, to be specific, there's going to be some Chopin later on…" Hermione explained quickly to her husband, her eyes fixated eagerly on the radio, her voice slightly hushed in hopes of not losing a single note from the lovely sound. Ron went with slow, curious steps towards her, stopping just some paces away, and stood there immobile for a moment, examining her with big, crystal blue eyes mutely. Then, as he let the music fill him more and more, he nodded once to himself with sudden realization.

"Oh… it's that weird rock song again that has a bit of everything in it, right?" he asked Hermione, as a smooth humming interlaced beautifully with the sounds of the piano and the new-born, almost romantic beat of drums; Hermione shot him a half-serious, half-incredulous look before sitting herself in the sofa, a motion that Ron mirrored keenly.

"It is certainly _not_ weird; it is Muse's _United States of Eurasia_ and it is a piece of wonder, a masterpiece, a perfection…" Hermione started serious and un-bending, but as the words kept flowing out from her lips, the voice kept on getting softer and warmer, till there was a tint of daydreaming-ness. Ron's eyebrow shot up in his forehead in an instant.

'_You and me are the same…'_

"You sure you ok? Of course, it's an alright song, but the last time I saw you having this look and saying these words was when you were referring to me and my sex skills."

"Ron!"

'_We don't know or care who's to blame…'_

"Alright, alright, sorry, but you really got me frightened for a bit…"

"Well, this band- they know how to make music; you cannot blame me!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands a bit up in showing of defense. "And for the record, I remember you liking this song as much as I, if not more!"

'_But we know that whoever holds the reins…'_

"Well… it's pretty good, yes, but I don't get why you fret over the band so much- especially those three chaps! I mean, that Pat guy—"

"Matt," Hermione immediately cut him off, spelling out the name with a bit of sigh; Ron just stared at her in amazement.

'_Nothing will change_

_Our cause has gone insane'_

"Why are you always like that when you're referring to him? And then there's that tall, quite muscular one; I mean, I'm_ taller _and my body is very well built, thank you very much!"

"That's Christopher, for your information," Hermione popped in once more, her voice once more lighter than usual, her eyes and ears focused with almost religious faith towards the radio; Ron shot her a quick, half-hearted glare that she never noticed and he kept going on his jealous rambling.

"And the drummer- he's like nuts! I don't get it! They say he's hot but he just wears all those tight clothes with blinding colours…! Yeah, I'm certainly turned on!"

"Ron, please!" Hermione eventually snapped up from her zoning out, turning her head just to take a look of the envy mask on his fair face. "I may fret about Matt, Christopher and Dominic, as you claim, which certainly is _not_ the case, but remember; I chose to marry _you_ and I love _you_, you silly boy…" Her words, sweet and warm, just like the new-born smile on her bright face and even brighter eyes calmed instantly Ron down, to the point of beaming back to her and wrapping his one arm around her back, thus bringing her closer to his body.

'_And these wars, they can't be won  
>And these wars, they can't be won…'<em>

"Yes, sweetheart, you're right… but for your information, I'm your _man_…"

'_And do you want them to go on  
>And on and on…'<em>

Hermione chuckled at that and pecked his lips. "Let's just listen to the song please…"_'Why split these states  
>When there can be only one?'<em>

At that precise moment, as the singer's voice reached a peak and the guitars started playing quite harder, Ron, who had already drowned in the peace of the past few seconds, immediately shot up in his seat, gasping a bit and looking around for a millisecond with wide eyes; Hermione stifled a giggle and patted his cheek.

"All right there, honey?"

Ron exhaled noisily before burying himself a bit deeper in the sofa and mumbling out: "I just didn't remember that it gets so hysterical after a while…" Hermione chuckled for real this time. _'And must we do as we're told?  
>Must we do as we're told?'<em>

"Hermione?" Ron tentatively asked after a second, eyeing her hesitantly as she had closed her eyes, seemingly enjoying the current flowing of the eastern, Egyptian-like music. For a moment, Ron let himself get lost in the warm, exotic vibes of the sound, dreamed of smoothness and silkiness and warmth and a few other things and wondered wildly if Hermione would belly dance to him, moving her petite, hypnotizing body to the rhythm of the equally intoxicating music…

"Yes, love?" she asked lowly, smoothly, and Ron woke up from his momentary reverie.

"What the song talks about? It seems a bit… vague…"

Hermione's eyes opened instantly, looking straight into his, a definite spark in them that Ron recognized as the one signaling the satisfaction to share with him, yet again, another bit of wonderful information. "As far as I'm concerned, it refers to a hypothetical situation, mostly inspired by a novel by Zbigniew Brzeziński, _"The Grand Chessboard"_. It is saying, more or less, how Eurasia could be united and in peace, thus managing to become a new, powerful entity that actually equals the American primacy."

"What the heck is Eur-?" Ron started baffled, but Hermione instantly cut him off, waving her pointed finger wildly in front of his face.

"Ssh, I want to listen to it!"

'_You and me fall in line  
>To be punished for unproven crimes!<br>And we know that there is no one we can trust;  
>Our ancient heroes, they are turning to dust!'<em>

"Hey!" Ron eventually piped in eventually, his eyes sparking with both mild curio and almost childish surprise. "That reminds me greatly of us!"

Hermione, with the hearing of that particular comment, forgot momentarily about the song and turned her attention solely to her husband. "Us? What are you talking about?"

"The lyrics!" Ron exclaimed almost enthusiastically, and as he noticed the somewhat confused expression on her face, he fast went on. "It really reminded me of the war; _to be punished for unproven crimes_- this happened to us; we suffered for things assumed and for the lies of Voldemort! _We _didn't trust anyone, except each other…! As for the last one, it certainly got me freaked out! It's- It's like I'm in Grimmauld Place all over again, facing dear old Dusty! I mean, Dumbledore was everyone's heroic idol since ever and then… he _really_ became _dust_! It's outrageous!"

'_And these wars, they can't be won  
>Does anyone know or care how they begun?'<em>

Hermione eyed him carefully, sensing some sort of oncoming, serious freaking-out from her redhead's part. "Ron, love, please calm down, it's just—"

"Do you think they are wizards?" Ron continued with his rambling, his voice getting more and more insanely anxious. "They must be, otherwise, how do they know about—"

"Ron!" Hermione yelled this time, managing, at long last, to capture her husband's alarmed attention. "They're definitely not wizards!"

"And how can you be so sure?" Ron asked her sarcastically, his demeanor shifting fast to one of a child's with the highly disbelieving look and the crossed arms on his chest; Hermione sighed and tried hard to remain calm.

'_They just promise to go on  
>And on and on'<em>

"Because I _know_! They _are _Muggles, for goodness sake! They are referring to a hypothetical situation, _remember_?"

Ron looked confused for a moment, knitting his eyebrows and slightly narrowing his eyes, till realization hit him. "Oh… _Oh_!"

Hermione just shot him a false glare before turning her undivided attention back to the radio.

'_But soon we will see  
>There can be only one!<em>

_United States!  
>United States!<br>Of...' _

Once more, the sensual vibes of that slightly oriental tune emerged into the room smoothly, with that particular silkiness that got Ron, once again, all warm and, if truth should be told, quite aroused. He took a deep breath and he eyed Hermione with the tail of his eye, observing intoxicatingly the slight, surely unconscious moves of her body, especially of her petite waist and hips. Ron's blood started circulating a bit warmer and wilder in his veins and his swallowed a bit hard, and obviously audibly, as Hermione instantly opened her half-closed eyes and turned her head towards him.

"Is something wrong, love?" she asked his, her voice light and gentle and, deep down, a tiny bit concerned. At that, Ron felt warmth of another kind sprouting in his chest swiftly, more and more, if that was even possible, and all thoughts of seducing her and making her do some belly dance- and then some lap dance, in the spur of arousal, if fortunate enough- for him Disapparated from his mind in a flash, till the only thing apparent would be his immense love for her. This time, he looked properly at her, giving her a smile full of adoration that she loved and quickly gave him back.

"Nothing," Ron replied in a low voice, "It's just, I love you so much."

Hermione's eyes, if at all feasible, brightened even more, to the point that they appeared like two suns covered in warm, milk chocolate, balmy, brilliant and absolutely delicious… Ron was certain that sun was green with envy by now, glowing so faintly in comparing to her. He was blissful, and certainly proud, that he was the one that could rise such an effect on her- so effortlessly, as well.

"Oh, Ron, I love you, too…" she almost purred and Ron's heart got even warmer and more hyperactive, as he noticed her body sliding on the couch closer to his own one, till they were two heats glued together in a process of wondrous and grand sentiment. They curled their hands around each other, tightly, yet comfortingly wrapped around each other with the intention of nothing but showing, wordlessly, the amount of that particular, invincible feeling that was constantly steaming from their hearts.

"This song… it reminds me a bit of that other one… that that slightly reminds of rock opera, with a bit of piano… with that Freddie guy, you know?" Ron spoke softly after a bit, spelling out a question that was bubbling in his mind for some time now. Hermione took her head from the comfortable curve of his neck to watch him more carefully for a moment, then to cherish him with a brilliant smile of hers.

"That's… That's quite right, Ron!" she exclaimed happily, and her tiny hand fast shot up to his face, cupping as much as possible his freckly cheek and caressing with her thumb his cheekbone. "The oncoming part, especially reminds so much the _Bohemian Rhapsody_ by Queen! Sometimes you can be so brilliant and observant, sweetie!" At this, Ron smiled with swelling pride, as well as with some faint blush that was spreading cutely on his cheeks. Hermione laughed for a second happily, almost innocently, and gave him a big kiss on the lips.

Ron was even more delighted then. _**  
><strong>_  
><em>'Eurasia!<br>... sia!  
>... sia!<br>... sia!'_

At the very first sound of the word 'Eurasia', Ron, as if seated on a spring, shot up from the sofa, jumping madly in the air, an almost insane look on his freckly face. _'Oh, I should have remembered of this…'_ Hermione thought immediately, as suddenly the recollection of the other times they listened to this particular song came into her mind. And yes, this one time, as well, didn't seem to be any different from the previous ones, as Hermione watched with amusement and hardly hidden laughter her husband, jumping like a madman in the air, bobbing his head up and down, left and right, as his hands were playing passionately the invisible guitar all the while Ron was shouting "-Sia, -sia, -sia!" along with Matt…

'_I'm really married to a child,' _Hermione thought vividly, all the while still observing Ron's spastic moves. _'Oh, who cares? I love him exactly for that!'_she thought further and she smiled, because she knew that if there wasn't this all-apparent childish behaviour in Ron, if there wasn't playfulness, this man wouldn't be Ron and Hermione may have not fall in love with him.

_'Eurasia!  
>... sia!<br>... sia!  
>... sia!<em>

_Eurasia_!  
>... sia!<br>... sia!  
>... sia!'<p>

"-SIA, -SIA, SIA, SIA, SI-!" Ron kept on shouting with fervor, jumping up and down while tossing his hair towards every direction possible, making it seem like dancing flames. Hermione was lying on the length of the sofa, watching him with closed eyes and a small, sweet and almost lazy smile on her lips, as her ears were partially focused on the gradually calming music, a so known tune on the piano that made her hum a bit before eventually pitying her husband and decided to drag him away from his peculiar reverie.

"Ron, my love… the _Eurasia_ part ended some seconds ago…"

The reaction was immediate: Ron, being in midair from a very impressive jump and with his hands feverishly playing on his imaginary guitar, snapped his eyes open, his face a mask of faint surprise as he was so abruptly resurfacing from his own, rock world. His arms and hands froze on their current state for a couple of seconds, his eyes locked on hers for a bit, as he landed on his feet a bit clumsily, almost losing his balance. Then he seemed to understand the situation completely and his cheeks reddened adorably as he was clearing his throat and nodding at her, his arms resting nearly dead on his sides. Hermione chuckled and patted a bit of free space on the sofa, beckoning him to sit down next to her. He smiled brightly and instantly went there, although, after some short moments of attempting to get comfortable in such a little space (and seeing Hermione so cozy and serene, with closed eyes and relaxed posture while listening to the music made the idea of a possible, sarcastic moment disappear altogether, in his mind only the image of her being so beautiful and calm and the always apparent sentiment of love bubbling in his chest), he decided on sitting on the floor, just by her side, and losing, lazily he intertwined his fingers with hers, liking the silent, so comfortable motion of affection as much as any other, understanding wholly the worthiness of even such a little action in their life.

Hermione hummed, most probably both as regards the song and her appreciation to his little, loving gesture. "This is so nice…" she whispered airily with her eyes still closed, her head moving a bit on the cushion in hopes of resting more comfortable. "Listen to it, Ron… so soft and peaceful, yet, deep down, a little bit melancholic, even nostalgic… the faint echoes of children playing and, laughing and chattering around, so sweet… Matt's humming, the piano… only, only to be disturbed by the sounds of a cruel reality… soldiers, army…"

She trailed off gently, probably lost in her own thoughts, which Ron understood to be neither completely happy nor entirely saddening or anxious; just a light-to-the-heart blend of various thoughts, maybe along with a passing recollection of a past equally mixed and contrasting, but only too much more vivid… He sighed, surprisingly in synch with his wife, and then they both just focused on listening on the few, remaining tunes of the song, entirely absorbed in the warmth the softness of the piano spread within. And then, a final sound was heard, and along with it, reappeared the buried puzzlement of the redheaded man:

"I still don't get why this aeroplate takes off…"

* * *

><p><em>-So, that's it! I really hope you all liked it and had as much fun as I had while writing it! Thank you for reading, like always, and after that, I'd really, REALLY like to know you opinion by seeing some of your always-precious reviews! That'd be extremely nice! :)<em>

_-The next one is already started, but due to its probably big length, it'll take a while... but sure I'll try my best! Till then, be happy and creative! :) _


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